A Certain Lonely Toon
by Foxyfellow
Summary: Shortly after the start of a new term at the Loo and the arrival of a few new faces, things take a turn for the seriously weird. Contains some mild MM content involving original characters.
1. The First Day

**1**

**The First Day**

RING-RING-RING-RING-RING-RI…

  WHACK!

  "I get through more alarm clocks that way." Buster mused, as he pulled the mallet from the sparking, fizzing remains of his clock, and lobbed it away.  He chucked the timepiece residue on top of a pile of electrical bits building up in one corner.  The rabbit swung himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to jolt them into action.  With a yawn and stretch, he trailed over to a closet and opened it.

  "Best get something to wear," he muttered to himself.

  Fifteen identical red sweaters lined up on hangers inside.

  "Choices, choices." Buster rummaged through the tops, finally settling on one, and slipping it on.

  He picked a carrot from a tray full and started to bite into it.

  "FREEZE!  WE GOT YOU SURROUNDED!" a voice hollered from above.

  Buster jumped so violently he cracked his head on the ceiling of his burrow, and bit his carrot in two with enough force to shatter half his teeth. As he scrambled to collect the pieces together and jam them back into his mouth, a pink long-eared face peered in through the hole above.

  "Did I startle you?" Babs asked, wearing a grin that would've made Freddy Krueger quail.

  "Not at all, Babsy," Buster replied, retrieving his mallet and casually throwing it upwards.

  "Uh-" Babs got out, before the lazily-spinning hammer smacked her full in the face. "Ohhhhhhhhh…" she continued, dazedly, as she fell into Buster's burrow, halting with a crunch as she hit bottom.

  Babs, her head now shaped like a dime with ears, glowered homicidally at Buster from her inverted position, legs jutting out at ninety degree angles from her body, skirt and ears drooping over her eyes.

  "Nice of you to drop in," Buster quipped, laconically, gathering up a few books.  Then the urge came upon him.  He tried to resist (for all of about 2 seconds) then gave in.  The bunny whipped a shiny blue water pistol from a body pocket and sent several gallons splooshing over Babs, who'd kindly remained standing on her head.  Not for much longer, though.

  With a teeth-grinding snarl, Babs righted herself, head snapping back into shape, and produced a pistol of her own, only to find Buster was already pulling himself out of the burrow.

  "Too slow, Barbara Ann Bunny!" he called back.

  "Don't call me that!" Babs bellowed, exploding out of the burrow and rocketing furiously after him.

  Her pistol, coloured the same bright pink as her fur, squirted out far more water than it could possibly have held as she relentlessly pursued Buster, but not a single, solitary drop touched him.

  "STOP!" the blue rabbit called out.  Babs did just that, in mid-run, in mid-air, not a hair twitching, complete with screeching brakes.  Buster span smartly round, coolly introduced her to another few litres of H2O, placed a cheeky kiss on her dripping nose, then zipped away road-runner style, leaving a rabbit-shaped, face-pulling dust cloud in his place.

  Babs unfroze, gave a roar an angry bull would have been proud of, and scorched off in the other bunny's wake.  A few minutes of splashes and screams and sprinting later, the imposing pile of the Looniversity loomed up in front of them.  The towering statues of Bugs and Daffy stood by the gates as always, welcoming the students.  Two of the latter stood under Daffy's shadow - Plucky and Shirley.  The former was plainly being his usual subtle-as-a-semi-truck self, as the reddening Loon suddenly fired out a psychic lightning bolt, reducing him to a pile of ash with a beak and dazed eyes perched on top, and stalked off.

  "Who ordered the char grilled duck?" Plucky's bill asked, woozily, as Buster halted beside what was left of him.

  "Great Friz Frizzle, Pluckster," Buster congratulated him. "You'll walk the Wild Takes this year."

  "Oh, ha-ha.  Let's all laugh at the duck!" The Plucky-dust was patently not amused.

  "Uh-oh.  Gotta go!" Buster ran off, rapidly followed by a still-furious Babs. "See ya in class, Plucky!"

  "Hey!" Plucky had switched from chagrined sarcasm to all-out whining as only he could. "Come back!  Please!  I'm stuck!"

  Several signs popped up around the green conical mound:

**  HELP!**

**  SOS!**

**  I'M STUCK!**

**  ANYBODY!**

**  INSTANT DUCK - JUST ADD WATER.**

  In the end, Shirley gave in and reconstituted the unfortunate waterfowl, who proclaimed himself to be forever in her debt (forever to Plucky lasting about five minutes).  The two ducks made their way into the Looniversity, joining the rest of the students in the Auditorium for a 'Welcome back to School/Purgatory' speech from Professor Bugs.  Babs and Buster, all water-based animosity forgotten, surveyed the massed toons, noting the presence of all their friends, and sizing up new arrivals (as well as ensuring they were out of Elmyra's line of sight).  They succeeded until the very last sentence of Bugs' greeting.

  "You should all know ya home rooms, so go an'..."

  "Cutey-wutey bunny-wunny heads!" Elmyra yelled in unbridled delight, making a beeline for Babs and Buster, deadly arms outstretched.

  "AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!" the bunnies took off a little earlier and a _lot_ faster than the Principal would have liked.

  Bugs gave a world-weary sigh, and leant on the lectern, fingers drumming a tune. "She NEVER loins.  DISMISS!"

  Toons hurtled off in numerous directions, either glad to be back or dreading every minute.  This year the gang were in Porky's home room, meaning registration took twice as long as normal.

  "Pl-eh-pl-pl-eh...the little green feathered guy?"

  "Sir."

  "Me-er-eh-me...Moneybags?"

  "...999,998...Yeah...999,999...Hey - I got $1 less lunch money today!"

  "E-er-eh-eh-e...bunny-hugger?"

  "Do you mean meeeee?" Elmyra cooed.

  "I don't see anyone else here crushing two rabbits to death, do you?" Plucky muttered.

  "Quiet, P-Plucky," Professor Porky snapped.

  "Sheesh!  Now he gets my name right..."

  "B-eh-b-Be-eh...Blue-ears?"

  "Here...just..." an even more blue-faced than normal Buster gasped, struggling to break Elmyra's hydraulic-strength hug.

  In the end, Plucky and Hamton had to use crowbars to free them, then all four tied Elmyra very tightly to a convenient anvil (every class should have one).  Porky seemed blissfully unaware, ploughing steadily on with the register.

  "Finally, a ne-er-ne-ne-new guy - Sandy." He gestured towards the back of the room, where a small red (as in colour and species) fox sat, eyes shaded by an Indiana Jones-style brown homburg hat, and a loose deep red jacket draped over his shoulders.  His extravagant bush of a tail served mostly to highlight the lesser scale of the rest of him.

  The fox tipped his hat. "Nice to meet you all."

  A few murmurs of greeting followed, Babs furiously trying to remember where she'd heard his accent before, and Elmyra managing to extend her vocabulary a little.

  "Oooooooh!  Cute Foxy-woxy head!"  Her sudden lunge actually moved the anvil a few inches.

  Sandy's eyes bulged out in shock as he brought a riot shield from absolutely nowhere and huddled behind it, only peering out every now and then to check on Elmyra's position.

  "His parents moved here during the summer break, so he's had to m-eh-m-eh-move schools," Porky went on, either ignoring or totally oblivious to proceedings. "We need someone to introduce him to Acme Loo.  B-eh-b-Buster?"

  "Sure," Buster agreed.

  "G-g-good.  He's in your first class, so you can show him to it.  D-eh-d-eh-d…get out of here!"

  The students obliged with alacrity, except Elmyra whom everybody had conveniently forgotten to untie.  Porky sighed, then released her himself, only to be steamrolled by the skull-wearing aminal-lover as she hurried to introduce herself to Sandy.

  Sandy himself was just entering Wild Takes (with Daffy Duck) when Elmyra caught up with him.  He took one look, then delved in his body pocket again, this time bringing forth a very large spring.  He held it out in front of him just in time to halt Elmyra's progress.  Her fingers just brushed Sandy's nose before the ACME brand repelling device did its job, catapulting the girl back down the corridor to collide with Porky, who was heading for his next class.

  "G-g-g-g-good shot…" Professor Pig burbled, before blacking out.

  "Oops…" Sandy grinned guiltily. "I guess knocking one of your teachers out is not good for your prospects."

  "Ah, don't worry!" Buster waved a dismissive paw. "That kind of thing happens here every day.  No-one's dropped a grade from it yet."

  "Heck, some of the Profs give you higher marks for imagination!" Babs interjected.

  "I'll remember that the next time I send a raving lunatic flying into one of my lecturers," Sandy replied, dryly.

  "Will you quit blabbering and hurry up?!" Daffy stood in the doorway, looking just a teensy bit put out.

  The three young toons clicked into meek mode as they slipped past and up to their desks.  Professor Duck glowered at them for a moment more, then launched into his opening lecture.

 "All right, kidsth - so far you've had it easy.  Now we up the ante a little.  Firtht, you practice the takesth you learned last year.  Let'th thtart with the Avery Awooga."

  The room echoed to a cluster of meaty thunks, liquid rolls, squelching pops and ear-popping AWOOOOOO_GA_'s as jaws hit desks, tongues rolled out onto the floor, and eyes jumped from heads.  Daffy surveyed the rows of gaping mouths and nodded, satisfied.

  "Very good," he told his pupils, "now thnap out of it!"

  This they did…all except Plucky.

  The duck scrabbled to roll his tongue back into his mouth, and when that failed force his beak shut, and when _that_ failed ram his eyeballs back into his sockets.  Daffy watched, shaking his head.  Buster leaned over and casually cracked Plucky across the back of the head.  The duck's face snapped back to its normal shape.

  Professor Duck barked out a second take. "Clampett Corneal Catathtrophe!"

  Within seconds he had a class full of multicoloured, three-foot eyeballs blinking total disbelief at him.

  "Not bad, not bad," he nodded again.

  The students returned to their (ab)normal selves…except for Plucky.

  "Nobody…say…ANYTHING!" the green-lidded eye demanded, bouncing impotently in its chair.

  Daffy rolled his eyes.  Buster slapped the back of the Plucky-eye.  The duck became himself again, holding a wing to one eye.

  "That stings!" he complained.

  Daffy ignored him. "Friz Frizzle!"

  Every pupil crumbled into pyramids of dust, their rolling eyes perched on top.

  "That'll do," Professor Duck commanded.

  His class reconstituted themselves…except for Plucky.

  "Now why does this seem familiar?" Plucky's ashes muttered.

  Buster produced a jumbo-sized watering can and liberally lubricated the duck.  Plucky grew back to size like a flowering plant, complete with large, floppy green petals round his neck.  He plucked them off, looking extremely put out.

  "How about a tricky one?" Daffy asked. "Wile E's favorite - the Chuck Cringe!"

  The students fixed their gazes on the ceiling, eyes wide and bulging, faces sagging, and ears drooping, perfect pictures of toons about to experience intense pain.  Two – Plucky and Sandy – even brought out tiny little parasols.

  "Very good!" Daffy congratulated them. "Especially you, Plucky!  Not everyone can make their eyeth tremble."

  "I'm not ac…"

  CLANG**!!!**

  "…ting…" Plucky's tooth-lined bill, tongue lolling from one side of it, was the only bit of him that poked out from underneath a particularly meaty anvil.

  "We lose more desksth that way," Daffy mused, as the other pupils levered the anvil off of Plucky. "Try an Overheater!"

  This was greeted with much scratching of heads and a sea of bewildered expressions…with one exception.  Sandy's ears fired out plumes of steam with a whistle like a boiling kettle in overdrive, his pupils rolled up to be replaced with the single word **HOT** over fire-filled eyeballs, and a jet of flame roared from his mouth for such a distance it set fire to the back of Plucky's head.

  "Well, darn!" Daffy groused, totally ignoring the small green duck belting round the classroom, beating his burning bonce with both wings and screaming blue murder. "I was hoping no-one would get that."

  Buster brought his water pistol out again, and calmly doused Plucky's head.  The duck dropped into his seat, the rear of his skull blackened and smoking.

  "Now I know how a cigar feels," he muttered.

  Daffy, extremely used to this kind of thing by now, carried on regardless. "Well done, Thandy.  How'd ya know about that?"

  "I ate a _really_ hot curry once.  Took me a week to recover."

  "That quick?" Daffy seemed mildly surprised.  Then he addressed the whole class. "The Overheater, as Thandy just showed, ith what a toon doesth when he or she eatsth thomething too hot.  In today's class you'll learn to do the take and customise it.  This is the first of many you can tailor to your own thtyle.  Now the-"

  Daffy paused, wondering why his feet suddenly felt much less secure.  A glance downwards revealed a large black pit had opened beneath him.  The little black duck gave a long-suffering moan and held up a sign with just two words written on it:-

**  Going _doooooooown_!**

  Then Toon Physics kicked in, and Daffy plummeted into the black abyss with a drawn-out, high-pitched scream, leaving a class full of mildly bemused students, and his sign hanging in mid-air.  It had turned round, revealing another sentence.

**  This is NOT an excuse to break up class.**

  Then it too obeyed what passed for gravity in Acme Acres.  Several toons swore they heard a crack of wood on feathered skull and a yelp from Daffy a moment later.

  Buster jumped across to the hole and leaned over, ears primed. "He's still falling.  He's screaming at tenor level now."

  Babs took the opportunity to put Sandy under the spotlight - literally.  A 500 watt spotlight that caused Sandy to react like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.  She plonked him in a huge black chair, then spin-changed into a Nazi interrogator, complete with dodgy German accent and glue-on black moustache.

  "Vhere are you frrrrrrrrom?"

  "England," Sandy answered, muffled by the welding mask he'd donned to protect his eyes.

  "Vhere?"

  "England."

  "Never heard of it."

  "United Kingdom.  Little knobbly thing off the coast of France.  Boasts the biggest haul of Olympic bronzes in the World.  Constant bad guy supply for Hollywood."

  Still Babs looked blank.

  "Gave the world afternoon tea?!" Sandy added, in desperation.

  "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Babs finally clicked. "I knew I recognised that accent!"

  Sandy groaned, dropping the welding mask and dragging a paw down his face.

  "Long way to transfer," Buster noted, still listening at the hole. "He's reached basso now."

  "My folks decided to move here," Sandy explained. "They've always wanted to, but not had the capital until now."

  "Capital?" Plucky's eyes flashed dollar signs, then pound signs, then yens, then francs, then finally switched back to dollars. "As in money?  Moolah?  Greenbacks?  Cash?  Dosh?  Lolly?"

  "Yep - £3,000,000 to be exact."

  "Three…MILLION?!" Suddenly Plucky was all over the fox. "You're my bestest greatest buddy, you know that?  I love you I love you I…"

  "BUT… We spent £100,000 on the Concorde flight over here, then were swooped on by IRS hitmen as we walked out of the airport." Sandy added.

  "How much ya got left?" Plucky asked, the dollar signs crumbling, and greedy eyes watering.

  "About 2 cents, your money."

  "That much, huh?" Plucky stalked back to his seat.

  "I think he's landed," Buster called from his station by the pit. "Either that or his scream's gone subsonic."

  "Do the teachers here normally plummet into pits mid-class?" Sandy asked as Buster strolled over to him and Babs.

  "That's a first as far as I know," the pink bunny replied.

  "How long have we got until end of period?" Sandy queried.

  Perfectly on cue Gogo popped out of the clock on the wall. "Twenty more minutes in which to go cuckoo!  Cuckoo!" He then whipped out a hugely oversized mallet and hit himself back into the clock.

  "One of his saner moods today," Buster commented, leaning back in his chair, outsize feet propped on the desk.

  "You should have been here on the Fourth of July, Sandy," Babs put in. "He kept launching fireworks from the clocks.  Funnily enough they all hit Plucky."

  "By the end of school he looked like Daffy," Buster chuckled. "Closest he ever got to emulating his mentor."

  "Sort of Bomb-bay duck, then?" Sandy asked with a lazy grin.

  "Boom, boom!" Babs returned, vying with him for the title of Biggest Teeth-Flasher In Class.

  "Gogo must like his duck grilled - with extra soot," Sandy wasn't about to be beaten.

  "At least Plucky's day went with a BANG!" Babs' grin was now half the width of the classroom.

  By this point Buster was cringing visibly, and poor Plucky huddled _under_ his desk, barricaded in with barbed-wire and flanked by growling, spiky-collared attack dogs.

  Sandy and Babs continued swapping barbecued-duck-style puns right up until Daffy walked back in – a matter of seconds before the end of period bell sounded.  He was wearing a corked hat and a fowl…er…foul expression.

  "If I ever find out who did thith…" he began, but the students had already bailed.

  "Mentor 101, now," Buster told Sandy. "Who've you got?"

  "Who've _you_ got?" the fox countered.

  "Bugs."

  "You've just answered your own question."

  "_Bugs?!_" Buster started. "Why him?"

  "Let's see - I want to learn to be cunning, smart, fast-witted, ahead of the game, able to bamboozle foes with the greatest of ease, and do great Groucho Marx impressions.  I may be wrong, but I believe that isn't Elmer's forte."

  Buster laughed and clapped him on the back. "This is gonna be fun."

  The two toons pushed through the door of Bugs' office, to be confronted by a blonde, pneumatic-chested rabbit girl wearing a skirt so short it could have doubled as a belt, and a blouse so tight it was held together by one button, and even that was fighting a losing battle.  They reacted the exactly the way any male toon confronted with such a sight was obliged to - with whoops and wolf-whistles, eyes changing to pink hearts, tongues lolling to the floor, blood-pumping organs thumping a full foot out of their chests, and one foot apiece stamping dents into the floor.  The grey-furred lovely winked languidly, and sashayed towards them, hips swaying hypnotically, a seductive smile curving across her cherry-red lips.

  She leaned over and planted lingering kisses on the mouths of the two students, who instantly melted into brightly-coloured puddles.

  The bunny beauty grinned in delight. "I still got it!" she noted, in an extremely un-feminine Brooklyn-and-Bronx accent.

 Sandy and Buster sat bolt upright, shocked realisation etched on their faces.  Both gave drawn-out groans of disgust.

  "Eeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwww!!!" They moaned in mortified unison. "I got kissed by a teacher!"

  Bugs shucked the wig and wiped away the make-up. "Welcome to Mentor 101, Sandy!"

  "Couldn't you just say 'hello'?" the fox complained, frantically wiping his mouth.

  "He don't know me very well, do he?" Bugs cackled, delighted at the chance to use an oldie-but-goldie.

  "Does he always greet people so...warmly?" Sandy asked Buster as they got to their feet.

  "Usually.  He likes to keep in practice."

  "Hold dese will ya?" Bugs asked, plucking a pair of bowling balls from his 'cleavage' and handing them to a deeply startled Sandy.

  "I won't ask," he decided, eyes almost as big as the bowling balls.

  "Dey give de right effect," Bugs explained, apparently having heard the fox say the complete opposite, "and dey're great for calming down over-zealous co-stars."

  "ELMER?!?!?!" Buster and Sandy shrieked, a little too loudly, especially given the wabbit-hunter's office was right opposite Bugs'.

  "No no no no no no no!" countered Bugs, hurriedly. "Poifect gentletoon.  'Sides, he knew it was me.  Some of de guest actors, dough, didn't.  Dey really thought I was a dame!  One or two tried getting' fresh wid me - so I gave 'em de bowlin' bowl treatment - grab 'em and bang dere heads on me 'cleavage'!  Dat dampened dere ardour every time!" he chuckled richly at the memory.

  "So it's cross-dressing today, then, teach?" Buster asked, cheerily.

  "Yep," Bugs replied, back to his normal self. "A practical class.  Go into dat closet over dere and use what's inside to turn yoiselves into dames guaranteed to blow an enemy's top.  Get to it!"

  The two students darted into the cupboard, and there ensued a truly unique conversation, kicked off by Buster.

  "Do you think I'd look big in this?"

  "That's the idea."

  "Oh yeah.  Let me rephrase - do I look big enough in this?"

  "Probably a little too big for a cartoon - even a WB one."

  "Lemme deflate these balloons a little…that better?"

  "Yup - less chance of poking people's eyes out now.  WHOA!"

  "WHOA! What?"

  "WHOA - I didn't know Bugs went in for Madonna impressions."

  "Whoops!" Bugs charged in, reappearing a second later, stuffing something into a body pocket. "Knew I shoulda put that somewhere else!  You two didn't see dat!"

  "See what?" two voices chorused, innocently.

  "Dat's my boys!" Bugs wiped a paw over his brow in relief.

  "Hey Buster - think these'll do the trick?"

  "Dunno - give 'em a pack of cards and see."

  "They'll do.  Now, let's see what's at the back here…"

  "I'll send in a search party if you're not back in five minutes."

  "Great.  Hello - I think I've found Narnia.  Wrong - just one of Bugs' flowery kimonos."

  "I'm about done."

  "Right.  For someone who doesn't wear clothes Bugs doesn't half have a lot of them.  Ahhhhhh - got something."

  "Let's have a look."

  "Here I come, ready or not."

  "When it comes to Bugs' dresses, I'm never ready."

  "Well?"

  "I'd say we're all set."

  "Let's get him!"

  The rabbit and fox re-emerged, not quite looking themselves.  Buster had turned himself into Sugar Dumpling, whilst Sandy had opted for the full Jessica Rabbit look, which meant he was forever in danger of toppling forward (the high heels didn't help either).

  Bugs grinned, donning his female guise again. "Now ya gotta learn ta walk the walk an' talk the talk."

  Towards the end of class, Yosemite Sam poked his bewhiskered head round the door.  Three impossibly-curvy young ladies winked and blew kisses at him.  The unsuspecting Sam was on all fours howling himself hoarse before the three kisses even hit him.  The two students and their mentor collapsed into fits of laughter, which kinda gave the game away to Yosemite.  Sam's face froze in utter mortification, before he sprang upright and stormed out of the office.

  "I CAN'T BELIEVE THE DURN VARMINT TRICKED ME AGAIN!" he was heard to yell. "THOSE BIG GAME TICKETS CAN WAIT!"

  Bugs stopped laughing. "Game?!  De football!  Sam, wait!"

  The bell for lunch rang as he hurtled out of the office, still in drag, and after Yosemite, leaving two young toons paralysed with laughter.  They recovered enough to stumble out of the office, just in time to be almost steamrolled by a positively frantic Sam.

  "YOU AIN'T KISSIN' ME AGAIN, RRRABBIT!" he bellowed, moustache flapping in the wind.

  Then Bugs flew past, in full southern belle mode, milking the moment for all he was worth. "Ahh do declare, Sah, you are a timid one!"

  "TIMID?!?!" If there was one thing Sam disliked more than being kissed by rabbits in drag, being called 'timid' was it.  He screeched to a halt, whipping out his sixguns. "AH AIN'T AFRAID O' ANYONE OR ANYTHING, RRRABBIT!"

  By now Buster and Sandy had sunk to the floor, leaning against each other, barely able to breathe for laughing.  Then came Bugs' coup de grace.  Before Sam could stop him, the rrrabbit pushed the sixguns aside, planted a super-sloppy smacker right on the outlaw's mouth, then hared it outta there, shedding his disguise as he did so.

  "What a ma-_roon_!" Bugs jeered, a sheath of football tickets having somehow found its way into one paw.

  Sam let out a roar so loud every pane of glass in the school blew out, then rocketed after Bugs, guns blazing. "YOU'RE A-FRYIN', RABBIT!"

  "No, I'm a fricasseeing rabbit!" came the distant reply.

  Eventually, Sandy and Buster recovered enough to stand up.

  "He is the BEST, no question!" There was a lot of feeling in Buster's voice.

  "I think I might enjoy this," Sandy opined.

  By now the corridor was packed with toons heading for lunch.  Devious gleams in their eyes, the fox and the rabbit adopted saucy, hip-swaying walks, and pouting, provocative expressions as they moved along.  By the time they reached the canteen, half of the school was following them, a massive pack of drooling, heart-eyed, howling Avery wolves.

  Buster and Sandy found Babs, Shirley, Fifi, Furrball and Hamton sitting to a table at the far left of the cafeteria.  Babs just groaned, Furrball fainted, and Shirley saw red.  She'd spotted that one of the front runners, presently trying to bribe a certain foxy 'lady' into a kiss, was Plucky.

  The Loon brought out a mallet, but Sandy forestalled her.  She acquiesced, sensing major pain for the wayward green duck in the near future.  Sandy lifted Plucky's bill with one paw, smiled coquettishly at him, then leaned forward and 'treated' him to a long, lingering lip-press.  As soon as he was released, the duck made like a wall-of-death motorcycle around the cafeteria, whooping and hoo-hooing in delirious delight.  Casually, Sandy manoeuvred to catch the duck.  Plucky couldn't believe his luck - TWICE?!  IN ONE YEAR?!  Then the fox doffed the wig and makeup, before leaning in again, still smiling.  Plucky literally wilted, going even greener than he originally was, the word DEVASTATED dominating the air above his head.  With an agonised scream, the duck scorched (literally - the floor caught alight behind him) over to the nearest boys room and began feverishly gargling with heavy-duty disinfectant.

  Meanwhile, back in the canteen, Sandy and Buster changed back to their normal selves, prompting a variety of interesting reactions from the male contingent of the school, ranging from calm shrugs to yelps of unmitigated horror.  One particular toon, Shirley the Loon, was killing herself laughing.

  "Like, he'll never forgive you, Sandy."

  "Ain't I a stinker?" the fox cackled, in a half-decent Bugs impression.

  "You're tellin' me, Mac," the rabbit himself put in, strolling past, pinching his nose.

  "I asked for that," Sandy grinned. "Anything edible served here?"

  "Not that we're aware of," came back Babs. "And that's not for want of trying."

  "Ah, well." Sandy headed for the counter. "I like a challenge."

  "You'll never make it alive!" Babs bawled.

  By the time Sandy had decided on exactly what way to risk his life, Plucky had joined the table.

  "What's up, duck?" Buster asked, mimicking his mentor.

  "That durn fox will be," Plucky grumbled. "Several hundred feet up, courtesy of ridiculous amounts of dynamite."

  Sandy sat down opposite the duck.  He had a plateful of red lumps coated in yellow sauce.  Or it may have been a yellow sauce sprinkled with red lumps.  Either way it looked more lethal than edible.

  "Like, major color clash," moaned Shirley.

  "It's this or green lumps and brown sauce," Sandy told her. "Or was it brown lumps and green sauce?"

  "Those cooks must be color blind, or some junk," the Loon opined.

  "Or they just throw up on the plate," Plucky offered, grinning demonically.  He turned himself into a stocky, stubble-chinned chef. "One puke-o special, comin' right up!" He went through a graphic mime of literally bringing up lunch. "Fresh as can be!"

  Sandy toyed with his 'food' for a few seconds, then pounced on Plucky.  He tied the duck to his chair with a fair bit more rope than was strictly necessary, then jammed a funnel into his beak.  Plucky went whiter than virgin snow with fear as Sandy ever-so-slowly brought his plate level with the lip of the funnel.

  "You wouldn't be _that_ cruel?" Buster asked. "Would you?"

  In answer, Sandy tipped the plate up, letting the brightly-coloured 'food' slide into Plucky's mouth.  Then he loosened the ropes, allowing the duck to hurtle for the boys room for a second time.

  "No - I'll let him loose this time." Sandy returned to his seat.  He brought a plate of yellow sauce and red lumps from behind his back. "Not that he ate anything unpleasant, of course."

  "Then, like, what _did_ you feed him?" Shirley asked.

  "Coloured ice cream," Sandy answered, grinning hugely.

  "Colored..._ice-cream?!_" Shirley burst into raucous laughter.

  Plucky returned just in time to hear that. "Ice cream?  I wasted a perfectly good sight gag on _ice cream?!_"

  The get-back-to-class-or-we'll-set-Taz-on-you bell rang at that point, forestalling Plucky's anvil-shaped attempt on Sandy's life.  The toons trooped to the final, double-period class for the day - Cartoon Discussion, with Elmer Fudd.  This consisted of watching a set selection of classic cartoons, then discussing them as a class.  At least, when any other tutor was taking it.  With Elmer helming it, Cartoon Discussion always became Let's See How Much We Can Wind Up The Bald-Bonced Maroon Before He Starts Shooting At Us.  The record stood at ten minutes before the bell.  Today's class aimed to break it.

  It started well, the toons taking turns to play small gags on Elmer, always ensuring he couldn't know who the perpetrator was.  All bases had been covered - Elmyra gagged (she could never add much to a discussion anyway), Monty bribed, and Fowlmouth given charge of one of Babs' smallest sisters.  Well, all bases but one.  Still, no-one could have banked on Fathead Fudd being astute enough to spot the tint of smug self-satisfaction in Plucky's expression every time one of his jokes paid off.  Then again, his insistence on doing a lap of honour around the classroom might have helped.

  When Elmer brought him to book, he tried to tone down his sentence by turning informant, and implicating Babs, Buster and Sandy.  This just served to get all four a shotgun blast to the face and a lengthy detention that afternoon.  The fox and the rabbits glowered so forcefully at Plucky that the small green snitch seriously considered following the example of his wild brethen and migrating elsewhere for the foreseeable.

  When the end-of-school bell rang, the foursome made their way to the detention room, hoping beyond hope Elmer wasn't on detention duty that day.  Within the room, three other toons waited unwillingly for punishment.  Calamity Coyote sat near the door, writing out a sign.  A surly, dark grey mouse lounged at the back, throwing unpleasant glances in the direction of the final room occupant.  Though the latter's species wasn't uncommon - raccoon - his colouring certainly was.  Beneath his cream waistcoat and trousers, both immaculate, his fur was bright white, his facial mask pale yellow.  His manner was a little edgy, a little tense.  He brightened up visibly on seeing Sandy.

  "Heya, mate!" the fox greeted him, almost trotting over.

  "Sandy!" the raccoon smiled as they embraced fondly, a gesture which drew, unseen by the others, a sneer from the sullen mouse at the back.

  "Meet Falloner," Sandy turned to Buster and Babs, one arm draped around the albino raccoon's shoulders. "My adopted brother."

  "A pleasure," Falloner shook paws with Plucky, Buster and Babs, even going so far as to lightly kiss the pink bunny's paw. "And you are…?"

  The trio introduced themselves, unconsciously aping the coon's gentle, polite manner, not that he minded.  Once that was over, he asked for a moment to talk alone with Sandy.  The toons obliged, moving over to grill Calamity as to why he was languishing in detention.

'**Blew Wile E up again**'read his sign.

  "Why is it when he blows himself up he's a genius, and when someone else does they're dead meat?" Plucky wondered.

  Babs couldn't resist glancing over at Sandy and Falloner.  They were deep in conversation, the fox not looking anywhere near as jovial as he had on walking in.  She also noticed for the first time how black the mouse's expression was getting.  Babs exchanged rapid fire whispers with Buster until the detention tutor walked in - Bugs.

  "Settle down, dere," he commanded, sitting back against the desk, manner calm yet firm, his famous accent toned down.

  The seven toons did so, waiting to see what their punishment would be.

  Bugs let them stew for about a minute before speaking. "Buster, Babs, Plucky - what did you do to Elmer dis time?"

  It took five minutes to reel it all off, with Bugs barely managing to stifle a smile.

  "Well," Bugs stated, "I'll let you off with ten lines each dis time, but only because I have more serious matters ta deal with." He dealt out sheets of paper, and wrote a short sentence – 'I must not get caught' – on the blackboard. "Now…" Bugs moved to stand in front of Falloner. "I haven't quite got my head round what happened at lunchtime today.  Let's go over it again."

  In the time it took him to finish that sentence, Plucky, Babs, Buster and Sandy had finished their lines.  Bugs nodded, indicating they could leave.  Sandy stayed put, and after a quick discussion so did the rabbits.  Plucky wasted no time in getting far, far away from Acme Loo.

  Bugs surprised the bunnies and fox by flashing a smile. "I was hoping you'd stay, Sandy," he admitted. "And I'm not surprised dat you two didn't go, either.  We could use outside views.  Brad - want to start?"

  The mouse grunted, then snapped out, "I found whitey over there looking at a piccie in a frame.  He even kissed it."

  "Nothing wrong with that," Buster put in. "It shows feeling."

  "FOR A GUY?!" Brad roared.

  An uncomfortable silence fell.  Bugs broke it.

  "So you hit him?" his voice was flat, but laced with the righteous anger that flashed up sometimes. "And tried ta break the photograph?"

  "I…I…" Brad fought for something to say, suddenly aware he was in the minority.  He steeled himself. "I…cannot…feel comfortable with the idea of…of…" his vocabulary failed him.

  Bugs seemed to calm down a little. "I can't chastise ya for havin' views," he stated, "but I _cannot_ condone how you acted on dem.  Therefore I have no choice but to suspend you from dis school for tree days.  Use 'em to think things trough, okay?"

  "Yes, Sir." Brad got to his feet and walked out, not quite radiating as much animosity as before.

  Bugs crouched down, so he was eye to eye with Falloner. "I take it de photo's still intact?"

  The raccoon fished in a pocket, and brought out a small picture framed with wood. "Not a scratch."

  "Glad ta hear it." He turned his head to look at Sandy, Buster and Babs. "You tree are now charged with ensuring Falloner doesn't get treated dat way again.  Okay?"

  Three nods, Sandy's the firmest.

  Bugs grinned. "Knew I could rely on ya.  You'd better get goin'.  Don't want ya to miss the usual Weenie Burger get-tagedda."

  The toons filed out, Sandy with his arm round Falloner's shoulders again.  The fox glanced back at Bugs, who was regarding Buster in a way that surprised him a little.  He filed it away in the back of his mind for later reference.

  Not a word was spoken until they reached Weenie Burger, and grabbed a table.  The group collected a small mountain of burgers and fries, then settled down to demolish it.

  "You'd think a hamburger would actually have some meat in it," Sandy grumbled, his in-depth scouring of his food revealing nothing.

  "The veggieburgers here have more meat in 'em," Buster replied. "That's why they're marked 'not suitable for vegetarians' on the menu."

  "At least this stuff comes close to being edible," Falloner put in. "I'm not sure the canteen food has been classified by science yet."

  "Wile E's still working on it!" Babs chimed. "It's his pet project - he likes a challenge."

  "You look a little...nervous," Buster commented to Falloner.

  "I'm expecting someone," the raccoon replied, eyes fixed on the doors.

  Babs couldn't help smiling. "What's he like?"

  "Well...er..." Falloner looked just a touch flustered, a smidgen uncomfortable.

  "Find out for yourself," Sandy interjected, nodding his head at the outside world. "He's here."

  Falloner's face momentarily lit up, and he gave a brief, delighted laugh before composing himself once more.  All eyes watched the newcomer enter.  He was another raccoon, and equally as distinctive as Falloner.  Inky black from ear tips to tail tip, with a deep brown face-mask, he wore a blue casual t-shirt and jeans.  In fact, casual was a good word to describe his manner, as well.  He sauntered rather than walked, a near-permanent lazy grin splitting his face.

  "Howdy, folks!" he greeted the group, cheerily enough to be mistaken for a Weenie Burger employee.  Falloner shifted aside to let him sit down. "Who be you two?" the darker coon asked Buster and Babs.

  Every single toon in Weenie Burger rolled their eyes, knowing exactly what was coming.  The rabbits reeled the routine off with consummate skill born of repeated execution, while simultaneously managing to look deeply irritated at having to do it in the first place.

  "Buster Bunny."

  "Babs Bunny."

  "No relation!"

  "Something tells me you say that a lot," the newcomer surmised, his grin widening briefly.

  "Oh, only fifteen times every hour," Buster replied, dryly.

  "AND IT HAS YET TO BE FUNNY!" Plucky yelled from the other side of the diner. "YEOWCH!"

  "Thanks Shirl!" Babs and Buster called back.

  "Like, no problem!"

  "That was Plucky, by the way," Buster explained. "And you are?"

  "Carter," the black raccoon answered. "Ready for tonight?" he asked Falloner, a twinkle of affection in his gaze.

  "Of course," the white raccoon replied, perking up noticeably.

  "What ya got planned?" Buster asked.

  "Movie," Carter answered. "That new Farelly Brothers flick.  What's it called?"

  Falloner could only give a blank shrug.

  "'Me, Myself, Dumb, Dumber, Dumbest, Kingpin, Queenpin, And Something About Irene'," Buster reeled off, abruptly.  He took a _very_ deep breath. "It's about a schizophrenic bowls-playing copper who finds a sackload of money and tries to return it to Irene who he's mad about but spends it all whilst arguing with himself and getting his zip caught repeatedly and who still manages to win a major bowling tournament along the way." By the end he was red in the face and hoarser than Joe Cocker.  Once he'd recovered he continued. "Apparently it contains the world's longest vomiting sequence - ten minutes straight."

  Both raccoons turned a lurid shade of green.

  "Anything else on?" Falloner asked, hurriedly.

  Babs whipped an Acme Gazette from behind her back, then opened it to the Entertoonment section. "Lemme see...there's Police Academy 127: Skeletons on Patrol - see Jones play Yankee Doodle on his femur; Star Trek: Geriatrics - Picard and co go on a dangerous mission to win a bingo game against the residents of the Klingon Care Home for Retired Warriors; Freddie's Definitely Positively Absolutely Dead This Time Honest to God: The Final Final Final Final Nightmare (We Mean It This Time); Mary Poppins 2004, featuring digital Dick Van Dyke, complete with convincing Cockney accent; Star Wars Episode One; and Lord of the Rings."

  "Great selection(!)" Carter rolled his eyes. "I'd say it's between Star Wars and LOTR."

  "You're quite rich, aren't you?" Buster asked, suddenly.

  "Fairly - how'd ya guess?"

  "'Cause Plucky's heading your way."

  Carter looked around, to see the little green duck moving toward him like a zombie after brains, chanting 'money...money' and drooling copiously, complete with shining dollar signs for pupils.

  "He's got built-in money radar," Buster explained. "Never fails."

  "How much ya got?" Plucky demanded, totally unable to conceal the paralysing avarice gripping him.

  "Well...there is a way to give you an idea, but I'm almost ashamed to say it.  I...I...go to Perfecto."

  "Perfecto?!" Plucky's trance shattered.

  "I know, I know.  It's unforgivable.  But my folks forced me to.  I didn't want to!   Please believe me!" By now Carter was indulging in full-on, eye-rolling, hand-wringing, sobbing voice histrionics. "Spare me from the block!  I beg you to spare my pitiful life!"

  Babs span into a sparkly, low-cut dress and handed the sable raccoon a golden statuette. "And the winner of most overdone histrionics in a fanfic is Carter!"

  The entirety of Weenie Burger cheered (including several side orders), whilst Buster, Sandy and Plucky magically became tux-clad could-have-beens, all false good humour and barely hidden jealousy (not that Plucky was acting, of course).

  The two raccoons quickly decided on Star Wars, and generously asked Buster and Babs to come along.  It took all of two seconds for the rabbits to think, discuss and agree.  Shirley also opted to join them.  Plucky invited himself along, and dragged Hamton into coming so he'd have someone to spoil the film for (he'd seen it twice already).

  The scene was set for a pleasant evening out.


	2. Torture by Cinema

**2**

**Torture by Cinema**

The Acme Megaplex was big.  So big the ticket vendors handed out maps and rations, and most people arrived a day early for their film just in case.  The toonsters strolled along a corridor, noting the screen numbers as they went.

  "34, 35, 36, 37..." Buster mumbled.

  "How many screens are showing this flick?" Plucky wanted to know.

  "40 out of the fifty," Buster replied.

  "So why didn't we just pop into the first one we came to?"

  "'Cos Elmer works part time as an usher here, and you can bet whichever screen we enter he'll be working.  But if you wanna get your beak blown off, feel free."

  "What number were we again?" the duck hurriedly consulted his ticket.

  "45!" Buster called out. "And just in time to miss the trailers."

  The group trooped in and allowed the usher (Elmer, of course) to guide them to back-row seats.  They were startled to notice the rest of the theatre was deserted.  It stayed that way, letting the toons relax more than usual.  Plucky dictated every event in the film to Hamton, who did everything possible to not hear - ear plugs, cotton wool, ear defenders and even a diving helmet.  In the end he opted for lining the helmet with glue and jamming it over the duck's head.

  Buster and Babs munched through popcorn tubs the size of beer barrels, and slurped from carrot sodas you could've drowned an elephant in.  They swapped dry comments on the big screen action, vying to spout the worst one-liner.  Babs was winning hands down, mainly due to her over-the-top impressions.  Her version of Darth Maul was more terrifying than the original.

  Falloner and Carter were availing themselves fully of the situation, knowing chances like this didn't happen often.  They had one arm round each other's shoulders, and other paws linked.  Plucky pried the diving helmet from his head just in time to see them share a soft lip-press, which gave him ideas.  He wasted no time in suggesting them to Shirley.  The Loon made her opinion plain by pounding Plucky into his seat with her ever-present mallet.

  "Usher!  This view's lousy!" babbled the green duck's bill, jutting out from the gap between cushion and backrest, the rest of him sprawled on the floor underneath.  Elmer appeared, and spent some time failing completely to pull Plucky's beak out, until he realised all he had to do was take Shirley's hand from the cushion.  There was a yelp as it sprang up, then Plucky reclaimed his seat, his bill bent up at a right angle.  Though he pulled it into shape quite quickly, it developed a habit of snapping back up at the most inopportune moments, much to Shirley's unconcealed delight.

  As the film progressed, Carter and Falloner relaxed more and more, the bond they shared increasingly apparent in their expressions and body language.  Babs stole quick glances in their direction every so often, her demeanour getting gooier and gooier.  Naturally, Buster felt less and less sure of his safety.

  Sandy leaned nearer. "I've never seen those two so relaxed outside of the family."

  "How long have they been together?" Buster asked, trying to retain his composure in the face of a lovey-dovey Babs.

  "Almost a year now," Sandy answered. "Our school in England never knew.  The plan was the same here, until Carter's parents stuck him in Perfecto."

  "Don't they approve?"

  "They don't know.  But they are a little snobbish.  Didn't think Acme Loo good enough.  It's a strain we could do without." He gave a sudden laugh of delight. "I don't believe it!"

  Buster followed his gaze, to see Falloner and Carter sharing a gentle kiss.  He also saw Babs with her ears bent into a heart shape, paws clasped under her chin, and a supremely soppy look on her face.  She turned to face him.

  "Oh, Buster…" she carolled, leaning close.

  "Oh no…" he whimpered, pulling out the collar of his sweater and gulping loudly.

  "I'm feeling quite romantic all of a sudden," Babs remarked, then dropped her voice to a husky, sensual purr. "How about you, Buster?"

  "Humma…humma…" was his cool, debonair and copiously drooling reply.  His brain had taken a long walk off a short cliff. "Want…popcorn?  Duhuuuuuuuhhhh…"

  "No," Babs answered, cradling his chin in one paw, "just this…"

  She pressed her lips to his.  Within the space of ten seconds, Buster's entire body stiffened up, spasmed like 10,000 volts was being passed through it, and finally liquefied quicker than ice in a heatwave.

  "Quite an effect you have on him," Sandy noted, watching as Buster slurped back into shape, T-1000 style.

  "He's putty in my hands," Babs replied, deftly shaping the blue rabbit into a passable facsimile of Michelangelo's David.  She was a little too accurate for Buster's liking, who scrambled to cover himself up, face burning red.

  "I just can't help myself!" Babs cackled.

  Sandy stifled a chuckle. "You need to learn a little self-control, mate," he whispered to Buster.

  "Hark who's talking!" Buster shot back. "You really displayed a lot of that during Mentor 101 this morning."

  "Merely following your example," Sandy rejoined. "Getting hints from an expert in the field."

  "All right!" bawled Babs, jumping onto the armrest between the fox and the rabbit, with a UN Peacekeeper's hat fixed between her ears. "Break it up!  Have a cigar each and make up!" She handed the other two a stogie each, then vaulted back into her own seat.

  Sandy and Buster shrugged at each other, sat back, lit up, and exploded.  Two blackened lumps with dazed and blinking eyes slumped in the chairs.  After a few seconds of recovery time, they turned as one to glower at Babs.

  "Don't you know smoking is hazardous to your health?" she cackled, gleefully.

  Buster and Sandy swapped determined nods...then leapt at Babs.  A dust cloud engulfed the pink bunny and her seat, sections of thick rope flashing into view every now and then.  When it dissipated, Babs' head scowled out from atop a small mountain of rope, painted blue and white.

  "Ye mae take ma chairrrr!" she yelled, in a thick Scots accent, "but ye will naiver take...ma FREEDOM!"  Some moments of intense, yet wholly 

unsuccessful struggling brought the addition, in her own voice, "All right, maybe you will.  Now LEMME OUT!"

  "You wanna blow?" Sandy asked, smiling malevolently.

  "YES!"

  "Okay!" he whipped a thick bundle of slim red sticks from behind his back, all of which were neatly labelled 'TNT', then jammed the whole lot in Babs' mouth, before rolling a long cord out to the front of the cinema, where Buster (along with all the others) waited with a detonator.  A sign popped up behind Babs' head, reading…

  **This is gonna HURT**

…just before Buster leant on the plunger.

**  KERBLOOM!**

  "I reeeaaaally hate myself..." groaned Babs, slumped in a ten-foot crater in the middle of the cinema.

  By now the film had finished, the titles scrolling swiftly up the screen.  The toons strolled out into the foyer, hoping they could sidle out before anyone noticed the damage.  They needn't have worried.

  "Hey - where the heck is everybody?" Plucky wondered, staring up and down the completely empty and silent corridor.

  "Maybe they, like, closed early," Shirley suggested.

  "They NEVER close, Loon Girl," Plucky corrected her. "Memory of a goldfi...YAARRGGHH!!"

  "And aim of an archer fish!" Buster chuckled.

  "I really need to start wearing pants," Plucky muttered, rubbing his severely singed rear end. "Preferably asbestos."

  Several minutes of walking brought them to the main entrance hall of the Megaplex.  Not that long ago it had been jammed solid with toons queuing for tickets to George Lucas's latest, but not now.  The ticket booths stood shut and silent.  The snack counter was fully stocked, but unlit and un-staffed.  The carpets were smooth and scuff-free, the glass gleamed, the metal sparkled; everything in the hall was utterly pristine, as if the place wasn't even open for business yet.

  Whilst Buster, Babs, Shirley, Sandy, Carter and Falloner headed for the doors, Hamton all but vaulted into the snack counter, and Plucky took a crowbar to a cash register.

  "All locked," Buster proclaimed, rattling one of them in frustration.  He peered through the glass of the same door, to be presented with velvety, impenetrable blackness.  He turned round, somewhat unnerved, and focused on a certain green duck fighting tooth-and-nail with a cash register.  And losing.

  "Plucky!" he called over. "That's theft!"

  "No, this is opportunistic gathering of funds!" Plucky riposted, giving one more, extra-hard yank on the crowbar.  With a violent crunch the register gave up the fight, springing open.  He flung the crowbar aside (it cracked Hamton across the skull, leaving him sprawled amongst the popcorn, starry-eyed and with a bump the size of the Eiffel Tower between his ears) then peered eagerly inside.  His face fell on seeing it contained about as much as Elmyra's head.

  "Hey, what the...?  It's empty!" he griped.

  "Better, like, shut it then," Shirley suggested, using her telekinetic powers to do just that, with a resounding BANG, on Plucky's fingers.

  "_YEEHOWOWOWOUCH!_" the duck screamed, prancing about for several seconds, then fighting like mad to pull his digits loose.  In the end Hamton used the crowbar to free his friend, before walloping him round the head with it.

  "I'm sorry - this counter is now closed," Plucky stated, before toppling backwards, unconscious.

  "Thanks, Hammy." Buster gave the pig a thumbs up.

  "My pleasure," Hamton replied, dropping the crowbar into a body pocket for future use.

  Sandy stared out of the door glass at the inky darkness, face intense. "No street lights...no signs...no car headlights...no window lights...nothing.  It's as if all of Acmes Acres suffered a power cut, except this cinema's fully lit, so it can't be that."

  "Maybe it's, like, a Perfecto prank (no offence, Carter) or some junk?" Shirley suggested.

  "None taken," Carter assured her. "And Perfecto ain't this organised.  I'm sure it's not them."

  "Monty?" Babs put in. "Then again, this kind of stunt requires actual intelligence."

  "Perhaps he bought the cinema chain?" Buster offered.

  "Without rubbing it in everyone's noses?" Plucky shot back, heading over to the group, rubbing the immense lump protruding from his skull. "And what was that for, Hammy?  What did I ever do to you?"

  Hamton opened his mouth to begin the list, but was silenced by Plucky tying a length of string round his snout.

  "Don't answer that," the duck ordered.

  "How about Dr Splicer?" Buster proposed.

  "What, old Chicken Legs?" Plucky scoffed. "Pardon me if I ignore that one."

  "You have a better idea?" Buster fired back, a little riled.

  "Dyerr…just gimme a minute…" Plucky's face screwed up in intense concentration.

  Buster shook his head. "Okay - whilst Holmes there ties himself in mental knots, we'll look for another way out."

  He led the way back into the cinema, Plucky (now with deerstalker, cape and bubble-pipe) too involved in his intricate contemplations to notice until they were almost out of sight.  When he did catch on, it was with a shriek, five foot leap into the air, and burst of speed that left his costume hanging in mid-air for some seconds afterwards.

  The seven toons found themselves increasingly uneasy as they paced along the corridor.  The only sound was their footfalls, echoing softly around the passage.  They peered into every screening room they came to, to find them seeped in the same smothering, unsettling silence as a long-forgotten underground tomb.  All were neat, tidy and utterly unblemished, like a car freshly delivered to the showroom, and lit only by the flickering cone-shaped beam of the projector, lancing across to the immense screen.  Every one was playing the exact same snippet of film, over and over again.

  A tall, dark figure draped in a heavy black cloak and hood, his face shrouded by impenetrable darkness, strode along a well-lit corridor towards the screen.  One of his gloved hands gripped the sable shaft of a towering scythe, using the weapon as a grisly walking stick to accompany his even, measured pace.  Within seconds his form was filling the picture, engulfing it in a shroud of black.  The scythe was lifted and pulled back, then the blade whipped in a glittering, razor-edged arc towards the screen, seeming to slice its very fabric in two.  Then the image flickered and jumped for an instant, before resetting with the figure just commencing his relentless walk.

  At first it was merely mildly unnerving, but as time progressed, and the sequence was played out before them again and again and again, they found their composure rapidly disintegrating.  They crept rather than walked, Buster leaning nervously round every corner before they ventured further.  Babs was as close to him as was physically possible without standing on him, her long ears, like his, straining for the tiniest sound.  Their paws unconsciously sought each other out, clasping hold with strength born of fear.  Hamton had brought out the crowbar, and hugged it to him like it was a protective talisman.  Plucky looked ready to jump into Shirley's arms at any second, regardless of whether some unspeakable thing really did attack them or not.  The Loon herself had one eyeball warily regarding her surroundings, and the other permanently fixed on a certain green duck.

  Sandy remained in the middle of the group, the calmest of all of them, though only courtesy of immense mental effort.  Falloner was a complete bundle of nerves, so much so he was actually physically shaking.  The only thing keeping him from losing his control entirely was Carter.  The latter had his arm around the other raccoon's shoulders, his face a study in forced placidity.  All eight were soon convinced that the next corner they turned would reveal a towering black figure and a flash of steel rushing for their throats.

  Then the footsteps began.

  No-one could say for sure where they were coming from.  The direction of approach always seemed to change whenever they made a conscious effort to pin it down.  The only concrete factor was that they were definitely approaching, approaching with horrible, inexorable rigidity.  The volume and pacing never varied, the clump of heavy feet on thin carpet as regular as a military march.  A sharper beat sounded in time with every other footstep.

  Now the group moved faster, caution giving way to cold dread, and logic to panicked impulse.  Their minds filled with a single desire - to flee.  Somehow they suppressed it, even Plucky managing to keep his urge to run in check, mainly with the aid of knowing he'd stand a much better chance if he stayed with company.  That gave him a selection of decoys to choose from.

  The cinema seemed to have grown exponentially, for no matter where they went, more uniform corridors stretched before them.  All doors led to identikit theatres, every single one ceaselessly showing _that_ snippet of film.  Nowhere could they find an exit, an escape.  Through it all, the footsteps closed in, the unrelenting deliberation of it agonising for the group.  It only needed one to break for mass panic to set in, and they knew it.  If they could just find a way out...

  Then the lights failed, prompting a collective yelp from the increasingly unstable toons.

  Choking blackness embraced them all, robbing them of what little orientation they still possessed.  It was that dark it even defied toon physics by not allowing them to even see each other's eyes.

  "Hold hands!" Buster called out, his voice shaking. "We don't want to lose anyone."

  With a lot of bumping and fumbling, and one snap of "HANDS, Plucky!" from Shirley, they did as bid.

  Their progress slowed down considerably, Buster using his free paw to feel for obstacles, painfully aware of the ever-present footsteps slowly hunting them down.  For all anyone knew they could be heading straight for them, but by no means were they gonna stop.

  A light flared up, blinding the group for some seconds.  When their eyes recovered, they found most of the fluorescents spaced along the ceiling had come back to life, though were struggling to retain it.  Most guttered and flickered, their uneven spluttering vying with the low hum of those lights that were straining to keep even the dimmest, wavering glow.  None of them were pristine any longer; cases were cracked and broken, a couple of the tubes had snapped, and fragments of plastic and glass pooled on the carpet below.

  Still the footsteps dogged them, now all the more unnerving for the sound of fragile material being ground by the heavy tread.  Their own pace sped up again, as they wove around the debris, desperately trying to pinpoint the exit.  It didn't help that all the doors were now haphazardly boarded up, sealed by aged planks nailed roughly across the frames.

  One of the lighting cases gave up its battle with gravity, plummeting to shatter violently right behind Plucky.  The duck was still in the middle of his terror-stricken scream and leap when the fluorescent tube from the same fixture detached from one hook and swung groundwards, grazing the back of his head.  There was only one conclusion his fear-addled brain was going to draw.

  "HE'S FOUND ME!" he shrieked, taking off down the corridor like a drag racer.  The others were right behind him.

   Spurred on by the unrelenting footsteps, they hurtled along the passage at breakneck speed, dodging glass and plastic, jumping broken remnants of light cases and toppled, fractured doors.  The corridor seemed endless, dwindling to a vanishing point far, far away from them.  Its condition deteriorated almost as fast as they ran.  Now the carpet was stringy, worn and grimy, the walls chipped and crumbling.  Rubbish and rubble clogged the path.  The overhead lights crackled and spat, the casing skeletal, wires bare and fraying.  More and more of them exploded as the group ran underneath, showering them in sparks, glass and burnt plastic.

  Small fires sprang up around them, begot by the intensifying sparks.  They spread and divided, licking hungrily at the group's fleeing feet.  Doors fell off their hinges, tumbling down to smash on the jagged rubble, and submit to the voracious fire.  Within seconds the flames were higher than the toons, and pressing ever closer.  Smoke filled the passage, stinging their eyes, and smothering their ravaged lungs.

  Watery eyes spotted a door looming up through the shifting grey haze.  Could this be escape from the heavy-footed thing which sounded to be all but treading on their heels at long last?  The eight hit it as a unit.  It didn't open.  Rather, it exploded from its frame, landing some feet beyond, the terrified toons piled on top.

  Silence fell.

  Slowly, carefully, they untangled and sat up.  Glances were exchanged as they mutely checked if all were present.  Falloner and Carter embraced tightly, heads nestled close for a moment as they assured themselves of each other's survival.  They shared their second lip-press of the night, then both focused on Sandy.

  Buster ensured Babs was okay before taking stock of where they'd ended up.  Behind them stood a bland, grey wall, with a gaping hole where the door had been.  Beyond that stretched a dimly-lit, unremarkable corridor, which took a sharp right after only a short distance.  They were huddled on the cold tarmac of a small car park, the entrance and exit a few feet in front of them.  Through that a gentle slope descended in the direction of the town centre.

  His gaze travelled across the night-time townscape, and fixed on something his brain refused to accept.  One by one the others got to their feet and joined him in staring in utter bewilderment at the impossible.  Across the gentle sprawl of Acme Acres, and completely opposite them, the bright, gaudy façade of the Megaplex stared blankly back.


	3. Normal Service Has Been Resumed

**3**

**Normal Service Has Been Resumed**

Although in most schools the sight of a two foot tall green dodo using his own head as a bell by the simple means of detaching it from his neck and shaking it would have had most people booking psychiatric appointments, the youngsters streaming past him and into Acme Loo's hallowed halls knew it to be perfectly normal.  Sandy, walking alongside Buster, Babs and Falloner, was one of the few to even notice.

  "Does he suffer from frequent headaches?" he asked, watching askance as the dodo in question ceased ringing his head, and began drumming it instead, using his feet as the sticks.

  "I have this weird pounding on my skull," Gogo pronounced, genuinely confused.

  Sandy rolled his eyes, which the dodo took as a cue to roll his - by snatching them from their sockets and bowling them along the floor.  Before they'd even stopped moving, they'd sprouted legs and belted off in the general direction of Wackyland.  Gogo took off after them, frantically walloping his body parts back in completely the wrong places.  Thus his head begged them to come back from the end of his left leg, whilst his right foot waggled ineffectually from the top of his neck.  Repeatedly rearranging himself, yet never quite getting the positions perfect, the dodo vanished into the distance.

  "Makes a change," Buster noted, as they trooped into a classroom whose door was labelled 'Advanced Chases with Wile E Coyote, Super-Genius'. "Normally he loses his head."

  Wile E himself sat behind a particularly immense desk, and a foot high by three feet wide placard with 'WILE E COYOTE, SUPER-GENIUS' written on it in five inch high letters, watching his pupils file to their places.  Once all were seated, he made a show of pressing a very large and _very_ shiny maroon red button just to the left side of the desk.  A portion of the desk slid aside, allowing a mechanical hand, complete with pristine white glove, to emerge.  It extended smoothly toward the door, pushed it firmly shut, then withdrew to the desk, where it lay flat on its palm in front of a super-smug super-genius.

  Calamity expressed the thoughts of his equally slack-jawed classmates by holding up a room-sized sign with '**IT WORKED?!?!?!?!**' written upon it.

  Wile E gave a supremely self-satisfied nod, and patted the robot hand with one paw, whereupon it clamped onto his arm and flung him clean over the desk, to slam head-first into the floor right in front of Calamity's table.  The younger coyote buried his head in one hand, the other holding up a new sign – '**Oi-yoi-yoi**'.  Meanwhile, the robot mitt amused itself by casually smashing Wile E into whatever surfaces it could think of.  Soon everything from the doors to the desks bore a dent shaped like a certain super-genius' head, physical proof of his incredible repertoire of pained grimaces.

  Eventually the hand released the coyote, who was now about half his original height and with no muzzle to speak of, and retreated into the desk.  Wile E dragged himself out of the room, returning a moment later his normal self and laden down with wood, nails and hammer.  He then proceeded to board up the trap door in his desk with almost manic fervour.  Upon finishing, he actually looked quite self-satisfied as he viewed his handiwork…until he realised he'd nailed his own paw to the desk.  Taking a brief moment to scream silently in mortal agony, he then feverishly prised his hand free.

  Over the next hour, he imparted his vast knowledge on the subject of totally failing to catch what you're chasing, ably supported by his seemingly inexhaustible sign collection and special guest the Roadrunner.  His cause was definitely not helped by the hand managing to break free of the boarding, and choosing the worst possible moments to pull him into the depths of the desk.

  It seemed to enjoy inventing new tortures for him, judging by the varying sound effects to echo from the desk whenever it had Wile E in its grasp.  First there came the sound of a razor in overdrive, then the coyote re-emerged shaven from head to toe (although the hand had been kind enough to provide him with a fig leaf).  Then a rush of aerosol spraying preceded a Wile E painted the colours of the Stars and Stripes.  For its third trick, the hand turned him into a coyote-shaped ice cube (though it refrained from dicing him or dunking him in a glass of cola).

  Everyone knew who'd fiddled with the device, especially since a certain feathery speed merchant kept nipping round the back of the desk to tweak a few things whenever Wile E wasn't looking.  Five minutes from class end, Bugs sauntered into the room, leaning on the wall with carrot in paw.  This had an amazing effect on Wile E.  He actually began to speak.  The only person to be startled by this was Sandy, though his only visible reaction was a raised eyebrow.  Bugs didn't miss it.

  With a wicked grin he stepped out of the room and out of Wile E's line of sight.  The coyote's voice stopped dead, mid-word.  Without a flicker of reaction, Wile E returned to his uniquely literal interpretation of sign language.  Then Bugs popped his head round the door.  Wile's voice magically came back to him.  Bugs spent the next few minutes dancing in and out of the coyote's view, resulting in yet more abject humiliation for the unfortunate super-genius, as he battled to retain some continuity between his sporadic speech and frantically scribbled-up signs.  As the end of class bell rang, he collapsed in a panting, utterly exhausted heap.  He still had the energy to glower at Bugs as Acme's principal walked toward him through a rush of exiting students.  Only Babs, Buster and Sandy remained.

  "Sorry, Wile," Bugs apologised, screwing on his most ingratiating grin. "Couldn't resist."

  Wile E opened his mouth to fire back a suitably withering retort, but was painfully cut off by the mechanical hand clamping round his throat and pulling him back inside the desk.  This time, though, he didn't reappear, the thrashing, crashing cacophony from inside the desk raucous and relentless, punctuated by ragged screams from Wile E.  Bugs, the Road Runner and the younger toons worked frantically to break the desk open, but it wouldn't give an inch.  Bugs, Buster and Sandy produced crowbars from body pockets, jamming them under the lip of the desk lid.

  The vicious beating stopped dead, as did Wile E's screams.

  "WILE!" Bugs all-but-screamed, his composure deserting him at last.  The Road Runner had lost his much earlier.

  With a tremendous effort paws and crowbars and sheer brute strength slowly tore the desk's top free, a roar of splintering wood and cracking, snapping nails filling the classroom.  The toons allowed it to drop heavily back against the chair, gazes fixed on the desk's contents.  A rangy, brown-furred form lay lifeless alongside the dormant mechanical hand, a typewritten note resting atop it.  It read:

          **ONE (1) DEAD COYOTE**

  The Road Runner collapsed into unconsciousness, his mind unable to comprehend what his eyes had revealed.  Buster, Babs and Sandy stood stock still, utter horror and disbelief etched into their youthful faces.  As for Bugs…

  "No.  NO!  Dis can't be happenin'!  It just ain't possib…"

  "Uh…urghhh…" It was faint, but it was indubitably Wile E.

  "Criminy - he's alive!" Bugs exclaimed, both astonished and delighted.

  Those toons still conscious leaned over the lip of the topless desk, to see the super-genius roll with difficulty onto his back, and stare weakly up at them.  Intense relief on their part found a release in extended laughter.

  "Jeez, Wile," Bugs grinned, helping his colleague sit up. "You had us goin' there!  Only you could shake off a beatin' like that!"

  "Road…Runner…?" Wile managed, then spotted the somnolent ball of feathers propped against a nearby wall.  A thankful sigh escaped his lungs, followed by a slight chuckle. "He's always…afraid…of going…a little too…far."

  "This weren't his fault," Bugs replied, providing a supporting arm as Wile E climbed from the desk, and got unsteadily to his feet. "Let's get ya ta Granny.  You tree," he went on, turning his head to look at Buster, Babs and Sandy, "bring the Runner round, then get ta my office and wait fer me.  Got that?"

  "Got it," came three sharp answers.

  Bugs nodded, then helped Wile E out of the room.  Buster produced a tumbler of cold water from behind his back.

  "Wakey-wakey!" he called, throwing the chilled liquid in the Road Runner's face.

  The bird spluttered to life, jumping to his feet and instantly noticing the disappearance of Bugs and Wile E.  He gazed questioningly at the three students.

  "Wile's alive," Sandy assured him. "Bugs is escorting him to the infirmary."

  Giving the most exuberant "MEEP MEEP!" they'd ever heard, at such a volume the windows vibrated, the Road Runner blasted off in the direction of the medical room, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

  "Gee, and not a word of thanks!" Babs drawled.

  Then the sprinklers kicked in, showering them in cool water, saturating fur and clothes in seconds.  Though the flaming trail was quickly doused, Babs rapidly approached violent eruption.

 "I already showered today!" she bawled, flames dancing in her eyes.

 "Let's get to Bugs' office before she explodes," Buster suggested, dragging the infuriated pink bunny from the room. "I don't fancy being hit by the shrapnel."

  Noticing with a yelp the countdown suddenly ticking in Babs eyes, and the way she uttered "Two minutes and coouun-ting…one minute fifty-five seconds and coouun-ting…" like a Bond villain's lackey, Sandy gladly obliged.

  Together they hustled Babs along corridor after corridor, battling to reach their goal before she ticked down to zero.  The sudden accompaniment of the Mission: Impossible theme didn't do their nerves any good.

  _Bom__, bom, bom, bom, ba-dum; bom, bom, bom, bom, ba-dum; bom, bom, bom, bom, ba-dum…_

  "Fifteen seconds and coouun-ting…"

  "We ain't gonna make it!"

  "Only three more doors!"

  _BA-ba-dum (bom, bom, ba-dum)…_

  "Ten seconds and coouun-ting…"

  _BA-ba-dum (bom, bom, ba-dum)…_

  "Okay, we ain't gonna make it!  Throw her in here!"

  "Five seconds and coouun-ting…"

  SLAM!

  _BA-DUM!_

**KA-_BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!_**

  Sandy and Buster slumped against the now-convex door, exhaling massive sighs of relief.

  "Does she do that often?" the fox asked.

  "Only once a month," Buster assured him. "Now let's assess the damage."

  He opened the door, revealing a blackened, ash-filled shell that might once have been a classroom, a charred sable lump with dazed eyes and twin pink bows slumped in the middle of it.  It gasped out a cloud of smoke, which rapidly shaped itself into the single word OUCH.

  "You okay, Babsie?" Buster asked, warily, ready to whip out a lead screen at the slightest provocation.

  "I've felt better," she answered, dryly. "Excuse me a moment." She stepped briefly from view, reappearing in pristine condition. "Shall we continue?"

  "After you, Babs," Buster insisted, partly through chivalry, partly through a keen sense of self-preservation.

  "Why, thank you!" she smiled as she slipped past, kissing the blue bunny lightly on the cheek.

  "No trouble…" Buster replied, his sudden inability to move and giddily happy smile indicating his brain had checked out for the time being.

  "Yoo-hooooo!" Sandy carolled, waving a paw in front of Buster's immobile face. "Anybody ho-ooooome?"

  Buster's mouth moved, but the voice that emerged wasn't his.  It sounded more like that of a telephone operator with a personality bypass. "I'm sorry - the rabbit you have dialled has been disconnected.  Duhhhh…"

  "THAT'S MY GAG, MISTER!" Babs yelled from some thirty feet down the corridor. "EXPECT A VISIT FROM MY LAWYERS!" Then she flounced out of view.

  "Whoa, is she protective of her material," Sandy noted, staring wide-eyed after her. "I hope she wasn't being serious about the lawyers."

  "Babsie, serious?" chuckled a familiar voice.  Buster, fully recovered, leaned casually in the doorway behind the fox. "That's about as likely as Hamton saying no to seconds."

  "Or you not losing 30 IQ points every time she kisses you!" Sandy grinned back.

  "I think you'll find that's 25 IQ points." Buster riposted, as they strolled along to Bugs' office. "I do have _some_ self-control, ya know."

  "When compared with Plucky after someone's dangled a ten dollar bill in front of his face, maybe."

 Together they entered the office, wherein Babs already sat, but of the Principal there was no sign.  Blue bunny and fox eventually managed to persuade the pink bunny not to sue Buster "for every last cent ya got, Jack!", just before Bugs strolled in, accompanied by a noticeably nervous Falloner.  The raccoon sat next to Sandy, whilst the Principal assumed his seat behind the desk.

  "Now, then," Bugs began, leaning forward, face intense, elbows resting on the desk, and fingers steepled. "I take it you've noticed de odd things happenin' at de moment?"

  Four firm nods.

  "Hard to miss 'em," Buster answered, mildly sardonic.

  Bugs took a slim card folder from the top of a pile near his right hand, and opened it in front of him. "I've listed dem here.  Tell me if I've missed any.  Foist Daffy plummets t'rough ta Australia, Canberra in fact.  Wile gets beaten to the limit by his own device.  Sam's backfiring shotgun gag goes wrong, when de gun blasts him no less than fifty times without pause.  He's in de infoimary, too."

  "Shouldn't shotguns have only two rounds, one per barrel?" A stunned and confused Sandy asked.

  "Have you ever seen Sam reload?" Bugs returned, pointedly. "Dat ain't ya average shotgun.  Now, have I missed anyt'ing?" He picked up a pen and held it poised to write.

  "One or two things..." Buster recounted, as concisely as he could, the events of the previous evening.

  Bugs listened intently, ears fully erect, pen whirring across the paper, and eyes rapidly widening to encompass most of his face.  He paused to think for some moments once Buster had finished, as well as conclude his note-taking.

  "We can safely assume," he stated, evenly, "dat someone's got it in for us big time.  Da question is who and why?" In less than the blinking of an eye he became a snarling, puffed-up (literally - he was twice his normal size) US Army general, complete with overlarge three-star helmet resting on his nose, mile wide shoulder pads with more stripes than a herd of zebra, and enough jangling medals to give Hercules a hernia. "CAN YOU ANSWER DOSE QUESTIONS?!"

  "YES, SIR!!" bellowed back four strangely-familiar US marines, decked out in camouflage gear, daubed in several gallons of war paint, wrapped in a couple hundred feet of bullet chains, and brandishing more heavy artillery than a Schwarzenegger film season.

  "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

  "YES, **_SIR!_**" Four sets of powerful young lungs propelled the words out with such force Bugs had to fight to remain vertical.

  "DEN GET OUT DERE AND ANSWER DEM!" The principal/general ordered, his helmet rattling around on his head with the volume of the shout. "Though that don't mean ya can skip classes," he added, the principal half of his brain assuming control for a moment.

  Babs, Buster, Sandy and Falloner saluted smartly, then turned to troop from the room.

  "Left, right, left, right," chanted Buster, taking the lead.  They started down the corridor. "Left, WHOAH!" One of his feet snagged on a bullet chain, and he tumbled head over tail.  Babs, Sandy and Falloner dutifully followed his example, even down to the yell.  Instantly their entire arsenal went off, the toon marines caught in the crossfire.

  "AND NOR DOES FATALLY WOUNDIN' YOISELVES!" Bugs shouted over the assorted explosions, gunfire and awful screams of mortal agony.  He shook his head. "Pete's gonna hate dis."

  Then he relaxed, deflating to his normal size.  This proved a bad mistake, as it allowed the high tonnage of disc-shaped metal attached to his chest to pull him violently down onto the desk, a sharp, metallic CLUNK ringing out.  His helmet hung in space for a second, then fell back onto his head with a CLANG-G-G like a church bell dropped on concrete.

  "I really gotta cut back on de medals - dey ain't good for me."

  At about the same time, Carter sat in a room somewhere in the bowels of Perfecto Prep, taking high speed and copious notes.  He may not like having to take Perfecto's unique classes, but he could still make use of them.  Right now he was enduring Decking 101.  Rather than jotting down the finer points of laying someone out cold in as many and varied ways as possible, he was concocting methods of avoiding a sharp visit to the floor.

  No-one noticed his jottings, mainly because no-one noticed _him_.  This was something he'd put a lot of effort into ensuring, always avoiding things that might draw attention to him, and generally keeping a lower profile than Richard Kimble.  He was just another face in the crowd, a number in the school's accounts; nothing more.  Other pages in his notepad were filled with ideas and schemes all geared towards getting out of Perfecto and into Acme.  He didn't want to end up like Albert.

  Albert had started school at the same time as Carter.  The sable raccoon had found the orange cat pleasant enough company, if more than a little naive.  That had been his downfall.  He'd turned up to the very first Decking 101 clad in overalls and a tool belt, and was therefore more than a little put out on discovering its true nature.  Ridicule pummelled him from almost every direction, including the teacher.  Albert ended up being used as a living dummy to demonstrate and practice the decking techniques on.  At end of class he'd been dragged off to the chemistry labs and never seen again.

  Carter had invested a little time in trying to track him down, but had only succeeded in deepening the mystery.  All of a sudden no-one remembered the cat, uniformly blank faces greeting every carefully-judged enquiry.  His name disappeared from class roll calls, and vanished from the front of his locker, replaced by the single word 'vacant'.  The only hint Albert had ever even existed was a tiny scrawl etched into the metal back of the locker.

**  Help**

  At least, that's what it seemed to read.  The 'writing' was so shaky and uneven it was barely recognisable as lettering.  It still disturbed Carter, left him feeling distinctly uneasy, dogged by a nagging feeling that something wasn't adding up properly somewhere along the line.  However, his restless, inquisitive mind could never pin down exactly what part of the equation was out of step, no matter how often it roved over the details.  That one small word - _help_ - often spent time echoing around the inside of his head, defying him to define why.

  It tried to do so as he continued to make his notes, but he managed to effectively quell it by one simple thought.  Falloner.  It was always a fight not to let a smile break onto his dark face whenever the white raccoon popped into his brain.  Suppressing it was a must, though, as he didn't like to consider what the Perfectoids might do if they knew he had such a strong emotional bond with another male.  Tolerance wasn't one of their strong suits, he'd noticed.  Should a Perfectoid ever get hold of Falloner... He shuddered inwardly.

  Such a mild creature, Falloner.  Reserved, even.  At least, he was when among those he didn't trust, which amounted to everyone bar two.  At least, it had until now.  Carter seriously considered the small group of Acme Loo toons as strong candidates to be added to the list.  He still couldn't quite believe he'd got Falloner to actually share a kiss with him in front of them.  The otherwise empty theatre had definitely helped, but even so, the occurrence was something to note.  Opportunity beckoned, he knew, and he wasn't about to let it slip under his or Falloner's noses.

  Decking 101 came to a close moments later, leading into a fifteen minute break, providing Carter with a little time to think a few things through. When opportunity knocks, he mused, you grab him, yank him inside and pump him for information.

  Back at the Loo, the small military incident outside Bugs' office had rapidly escalated into a four-sided, all out, toon-style World War.  Thus Bugs watched through his open office door as Buster shot past in a blur, closely pursued by a six-foot explosive projectile with 'ACME Rabbit-Seeking Missile - With Love From Babs' written along the side of it.  Ten seconds later the rocket burned back in the opposite direction, the 'Rabbit' prefixed by 'Pink'.

  "Dat boy's gettin' quicker," Bugs noted, a ghost of a grin curving across his face.

  The missile made a second brief encore, now with 'Pink Rabbit' crossed out and 'Fox' written above it, and pursuing a frantic Sandy.

  "I must not call her Barbara Ann, I must not call her Barbara Ann, I must not call her Barbara Ann..." the fox gibbered as he ran.

  Bugs shook his head. "Dat means trouble's about ta blow up."

  BOOM!

  "Right on cue."

  A blackened and smouldering Sandy stumbled into view. "Does anybody mind if I smoke?" he burbled, voice frazzled, before coughing up a cloud of black and keeling over backwards.

  "Why do so many kids pick up such bad habits?"

  A rumbling, floor-shaking growl filled the corridor.  A sign poked round the door from where Sandy lay happily burning, the one word written on it so tiny the rabbit could barely read it.

  **Mother...**

  Fifty-four tons of battle-ready Chieftain tank rolled heavily past the doorway, a white raccoon face painted on the battered and dented metal front.  Sandy's sign span round, as a wince-inducing, drawn-out CRUNCH filled the air.  It now read, in even-more-tiny lettering:

  **Ow****.**

  "My t'oughts exactly," winced Bugs.  The sign flipped round again.

  **Anyone for pizza?**

  "Eh, t'anks, but no t'anks, Doc," Bugs answered, then winced again as he realised what he'd said.

  **That hurt more than the tank, **the sign complained.

  "Dat was a bad one," Bugs agreed.  He got to his feet and strolled to the door.  A red and white homburg-wearing puddle sporting a pair of deeply pained eyes lay just to the left, and a pink bow-bedecked one further down the corridor.  Falloner, having ditched the tank, ran towards Bugs, dodging the missiles, bullets, knives, grenades and paper pellets being launched by a fully Rambo-ed up Buster.

  "ALL RIGHT!" Bugs bellowed, causing the Babs and Sandy shaped smears to balloon back to their normal selves, and Buster and Falloner to skid to a halt. "Cease da World War.  Sam's still recovering, and so is the only possible replacement, so yer next class is cancelled.  Youse de free time ta do what I asked ya.  Except you, Sandy.  I'd like a woid with ya."

  "Okay." Sandy, looking just a touch nervous, padded into the office, Bugs shutting the door behind him, leaving the bunnies and raccoon to shrug puzzled shoulders, and hurry off.

  "Now," Bugs seated himself on one of two chairs huddled round a small table in a corner of the room, motioning for Sandy to take the other. "I need to talk to ya about a few rumors going round de school.  The only constants with dem are you and Falloner.  I need you ta help me sort out what's real, what's half-real, and what's complete baloney.  Okay?"

  "Al...all right," Sandy agreed, paws fidgeting slightly as they rested on his lap.  Bugs' Brooklyn/Bronx twang had softened quite a bit, he'd noticed, not unlike it had in detention the other day.  This time, though, there was an extra quality to it, a tint of a tone that actually helped to calm him a little.

  "We'll start with you telling me all about you, Falloner and Carter," Bugs decided. "Then we can get to de rumors."

  Sandy sucked in a deep breath, marshalled himself mentally, opened his mouth, and began.

  "What d'ya think they're talking about?" Buster asked, as he, Babs and Falloner patiently watched the library computer process the query Bookworm had entered.  A search of the entire database for any similar events to what they'd experienced at the Megaplex was guaranteed to take time.

  "I can guess," Falloner answered, softly, his gaze dropping a little.

  "Oh?" Buster prompted.

  "Maybe later," was all the white raccoon would say.  Gentle coaxing gained no result, so the matter was quietly dropped, though some minds still niggled determinedly away at it.

  "How much longer?" Babs wondered, impatiently eying the 'Finding...' message displayed on the monitor in front of them. "It's been going thirty seconds, already!"

  "Well, if you wanna do it the hard way..." Buster gestured towards a filing cabinet quite literally bulging with old Acme Gazettes, to the point the side panels looked ready to fly off at the slightest provocation.

  Babs shifted her chair nearer to the computer. "Nah.  This is safer."

  "Ah - it's about done," Falloner piped up.

  The toon trio focused fully on the computer, watching it flash up "Complete" in silent anticipation.  As the results displayed, the power went, and everything vanished into impenetrable blackness, despite it being the middle of the morning.

  "All right - who forgot to put ten cents in the meter?"


	4. Out of the Darkness

**4**

**Out of the Darkness**

"I HATE BEING KEPT in the dark," Babs grumbled, after a moment, though the pun was half-hearted, and her voice not as strong as usual.

  "Maybe it's just a power cut," Buster suggested, his paw finding hers, and gripping it tightly.

  "What, of the sun, too?" Babs chided him. "Not unless the animator's spilled his inkpot again."

  "What happened the last time?" Falloner asked, not completely sure he really wanted an answer.

  "Eh, no-one really knows," Buster answered, laconically, "and as I found myself wearing a tutu when we could see again, I don't think I _want_ to."

  "Eh-heh…" Babs was extremely glad no-one could see her face. "How embarrassing."

  "I lived," Buster assured her. "Plucky almost didn't."

  "I'm not sure I want to know," Falloner winced.

  "Before lights out, he was standing between Shirley and Arnold.  When they came back on, no Plucky, a big hole in the ground, and Shirley and Arnold shaking hands before going their separate ways." Buster stated, succinctly, tone as dry as Groucho Marx's martini. "It took almost an hour to dig him out."

  "Does he have any redeeming features?" Falloner wondered, in a spot-on approximation of Buster's laid-back vocal manner.

  "Tell ya when we've finished looking." Buster answered, apparently not noticing the uncanny echo of his own voice. "Talking of looking, best we find the light switch."

  "I think it was in this direction…" Falloner's voice moved away, slowly, accompanied by tentative footsteps.  They culminated in a firm thump of toon foot on metal surface. "What's this?" A pause.  When he spoke again, he sounded just like Yosemite Sam looking down the barrel of yet another cannon. "Oh, no…  Nice knowing you."

  As the last word left his mouth, a crack rang out, followed by a disturbing rushing noise.  The lights snapped back to life at that point, giving Buster and Babs a wonderful view of the tidal wave of Acme Gazettes bearing down on them.  Buster tied a blindfold round his eyes, and puffed at a cigarette.  Babs stood next to him in a sombre black dress, hat and veil, holding a small wreath with 'RIP Babs' spelled out across it in both hands.

  The typewritten tsunami broke over them, burying both bunnies under several feet of old copy.  They pulled themselves to the surface in fairly short order, Buster choking on the cigarette still pinned between his teeth, and Babs with the wreath around her neck, and a paper wedged in one ear.  She pulled it free, and glanced at the front page.

NEW STUDY REVEALS THE DANGERS OF WEDGING NEWSPAPERS IN YOUR EAR

  "Do tell." She flung the Gazette away, following it up with the wreath.  Looking around, she noticed the still-shut window blinds, the twisted portions of filing cabinet scattered about the room, and one entire panel embedded upright in the wall by the door.  The paws and feet jutting out from it told a story all their own, particularly the hand holding an Acme Gazette with the headline:

SECOND STUDY SHOWS GETTING CRUSHED INTO A WALL BY A PANEL FROM AN EXPLODED FILING CABINET ISN'T PARTICULARLY GOOD FOR YOU EITHER

  "Could someone please pry me out of here?" Falloner's heavily muffled voice asked. "I feel a little flat." Together, Babs and Buster pulled the panel free, allowing the wafer-thin raccoon to topple forward into the paper lake. "Thank you."

  Once he'd popped back into shape, he joined the rabbits in surveying the remains of the library.

  "Bugs is gonna kill us," Buster opined. "That is, if that shark doesn't first."

  "What shark?" Babs asked, then saw the grey-blue fin slicing through the sea of gazettes, heading right for them. "Oh, that shark."

  A moment's silence, an exchange of steady nods, then three clouds of screaming, toon-shaped smoke was all that was left.  The 'shark' stood up, revealing itself, as the papers dropped away, to be an overweight, yellow-skinned man with bathing shorts, only three wisps of hair on his head, and a fake fin strapped to his back.  He surveyed the Babs-, Buster- and Falloner-shaped holes in the library wall, and the fleeing figures some distance beyond them.

  "Silly talking animals!  Thinking I was a shark!" he giggled, in childish glee.  The laughter stopped. "Talking animals?!" With a sharp, high-pitched yelp, Homer J Simpson sprinted as fast as his chubby frame could take him in the opposite direction, straight through a window and far away, ending his utterly unnecessary cameo.

  Eventually, the trio stopped running, if only because they'd run out of corridor.

  "This was no boat accident!" Falloner proclaimed, in a perfect American accent.

  "Quite the mynah bird, eh, Hoop?" Buster noted.

  "It's a talent I have," Falloner confirmed, in husky, feminine tones.

  "Hey!  A fellow mimic!" Babs beamed. "This could be the beginning of a bee-you-ta-ful relationship!" She grabbed the raccoon by his waistcoat, pulling his face right up to hers, their noses pressed together. "Use any more of my material and you'll be up to your mask in lawyers!"

  "Point noted," Falloner gulped.

  "Good boy." Babs let him free. "Is it me, or is it quieter than one of Plucky's parties in here?"

  "You know, you're right," Buster agreed, ears swivelling from left to right and back again, but picking up no sound at all beyond their own voices.  His eyes took in the pristine condition of the corridor around him from under raised brows. "And Pete's been working overtime."

  Babs opened a classroom door, and peered in. "Empty.  Not a soul to be seen." Her voice didn't sound quite as lively as normal.

  Buster took one more look around, then took Babs' hand. "Let's get to Bugs' office."

  The toon trio broke into a jog, hustling along several corridors in succession, their footsteps echoing around them.  As the Principal's office came into view, so did a familiar green and feathered form.

  "Hey, guys!" Plucky called out, drawing to a halt. "Any of you seen Hammy?  Or anyone besides yourselves, for that matter?"

  "Nope," Buster answered. "You're the first since the blackout."

  "Same here," Plucky didn't seem half as much of a wiseacre as usual. "This is ringin' the wrong bells."

  "I'm with ya there, Pluckster." Buster put a paw to the door handle. "Let's see what Bugs thinks."

  "If he's there." Plucky's level of optimism remained the same, though.

  "Don't." His face set rigid, Buster opened the office door.  A solid, bulging wall of Acme Gazettes greeted him. "Hmm.  Déjà vu."

 By the time the flow stopped, the four toons had been washed a full twenty feet down the corridor.  Buster was the first to surface, almost instantly spotting a pink ear with a lavender bow attached jutting from the drifts of printed paper.  He wrapped a paw round it and pulled.  Babs popped out, looking ever so slightly irritable.

  "TWICE IN ONE CHAPTER?!" she seethed, smoke pluming from her ears.

  "Hey, everything else gets recycled." Buster pointed out, laconically. "Why not violent sight gags?"

  "I'll tell ya why," muttered Plucky, pulling a sheath of Gazettes from his bill. "'Cos it HURTS!"

  "You should know," Buster replied. "Hey, Babsie - is it me, or have your bows changed color?"

  Babs bent one ear down in front of her face, and surveyed it. "Well whaddaya know.  A ge-neu-wine continuity error."

  "Plenty more where that came from," Plucky put in, sourly, straightening his blue vest.  Then he noticed the words "SITTING DUCK" were emblazoned in large capitals across the back. "Oh, ha-ha," he groused, glaring at no one in particular. "It is to laugh." Quickly, he reversed the vest, returning it to its normal white, then stood up.

  "Sandy!" Falloner scrambled past the disgruntled duck, to wrap relieved arms round the figure standing in the doorway of Bugs' office.

  The fox chuckled softly, patting his adopted brother's back. "Good to see you, too." Letting the raccoon remain where he was for the moment, he gazed levelly round at the others. "Still in one piece?"

  The rabbits answered with nods, while Plucky snapped "Just!"

  "Good." Sandy began ushering Falloner into the office. "Best come in here.  We need to talk."

  Slightly unnerved by the fox's terse manner, the trio followed him in, to find Bugs seated at his desk.  The Principal didn't seem to notice them immediately, a thoughtful cast to his eyes.  When he did acknowledge them, it was with noticeable relief in his brief smile.

  "Glad youse guys is still with us," he greeted them, eyes lighting on Buster. "We've gotten much too thin on the ground for my liking."

  "The whole Loo's empty?" Buster asked, taking a seat.

  "Looks that way," Sandy told him, sitting next to Falloner, lightly holding one of the raccoon's hands. "I had a brief wander up and down the corridor.  Quiet as… Quiet."

  Bugs' eyes flicked toward the fox for a moment, then fixed back on Buster. "No-one else in de library?"

  "Not even Bookworm," the rabbit answered. "He wriggled off before the lights went.  The only person we saw before you was Plucky."

  "And they were the first _I_ saw," Plucky put in. "When I heard class had been cancelled, I decided to head for the Cafeteria.  Hamton went to drop his books in his locker before joining me.  Only, he didn't."

  "We know what we need ta do, then." Bugs opened one of the drawers of his desk, and brought forth a quartet of two-way radios, which he laid smartly on the desk. "T…"

  "There you are!" Hamton bundled into the office, his almost overpowering relief tinged with anxiety.

  Plucky gripped his friend's hands. "Hammy, you're all right!"

  "Where is everyone?" Hamton asked. "I go to my locker, the lights go out, they come back, everyone's gone."

  "We were about ta try and find out," Bugs told him. "Now you're here, things add up better.  I suggest we soich the Loo, find anyone else left, and bring them back here, okay?"

  Buster nodded. "Pairs?"

  "Yep." Bugs handed his protégé one of the radios, his voice and manner extremely businesslike, and a gleam of determination in his eyes. "You go with Sandy.  Babs, work with Falloner.  Plucky and Hamton, you're the last pair.  I'll stay here.  Report in every ten minutes, in order, and whenever you find someone or something interesting.  I'll confoim any arrivals, and speak out if anyone gets ta the office by sheer accident.  OK?"

  Uneasy nodding was the simple reply from all quarters.  Sandy and Babs took one of the remaining radios each, then the toon teams filed from the office, Bugs watching after them, a pensive cast to his expressive face.

  "Almost time to check in," Buster noted, glancing at his watch.

  Sandy didn't reply, simply pushing the door to the next classroom open, and pacing inside.

  Sighing softly, Buster followed, eyes more on the fox than the room.  He knew it would be empty, would be free of any life, but he didn't know what was troubling his companion.  His cursory reminder of their need to report in had been the first thing either of them had said since leaving Bugs' office to scour the second floor.  Sandy seemed almost to be working on autopilot, his mind toiling obstinately on a different task to his body.  His manner had become withdrawn and even a little sullen, his actions sharp and perfunctory.  It wasn't that he didn't care, Buster surmised, watching him carefully, but that something was nagging at him, and wouldn't show any mercy.

  The room proved as silent and empty as all the others, so they swiftly took their leave, stopping in the corridor to check in.

  Buster depressed the 'talk' button. "Buster here.  We're checking the second floor.  Nothing found yet.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs' voice answered.

  Then Babs' tones chimed in. "Babs calling.  First floor.  Nothing yet.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs repeated, his inflection indicating he was taking notes, both physical and mental.

  "Plucky.  Nada on third, either.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs' voice concluded. "Over and out."

  Buster let the hand holding his radio drop to his side.  For a moment, he was tempted to confront Sandy, ask him straight out what was troubling him, but quickly changed his mind.  It could wait.  No point focusing on side issues.  Yet.

  Sandy was already entering the next room, so Buster hurried to catch him up, trying not to let the tension building slowly inside him have any effect on his mindset.  The total lack of _any_ sound beyond their own footsteps was starting to unnerve him, as were parallels he didn't care to dwell upon.

  "Buster…"

  The rabbit sped up, noting the confusion in his companion's voice.  Stepping through the door, he found Sandy standing by a desk next to the rearmost window, one paw resting on its timeworn surface.  As he reached the fox, Buster followed his gaze, to see a pair of rough lines scratched shakily across the dark varnish and wood.  They formed a letter, large and ragged.

  L

  A glance at Sandy, whose own attention was now fixed somewhere beyond the window, then he activated the radio.

  "Buster.  Bugs, we've found something.  A desk in Math Classroom 3.  It's got a letter etched into the top – 'L'.  Over."

  "An 'L'?" Bugs' voice crackled back. "Noimally I'd say dat was someone jokin' around, but…" He trailed off.

  "…but as all the other desks are as new…" Buster finished for him.

  "Exactly." Another pause. "Keep lookin'.  Over and out."

  "Anything else?" Buster asked, turning back to Sandy.

  "No," the fox replied, bluntly.  He turned to leave.

  Buster remained where he was for a moment, tussling with two options.  Then, with a quick glance out of the window, across the dormant expanse of the courtyard to the silent monolith of the clock tower, he hustled from the classroom.

  "Sandy," he began, moving level with his companion.  The fox paused and looked at him. "Have we done something wrong?"

  Sandy looked a little puzzled for a moment, then a fragile smile and a half-hearted chuckle broke forth. "No." He clapped a hand to Buster's shoulder. "Quite the opposite.  I've just been going over some old ground."

  Before Buster could ask what he meant, Babs' voice erupted excitably from the radio.

  "Babs.  We've found Daffy.  Over."

  "Where?" Bugs' voice asked.

  "Wild Takes 101," Babs told him, watching as the black duck headed at speed down the corridor. "He deliberately stayed put after the lights went. His class never showed up, though.  He's heading your way now.  Over."

  "I'll tell yas when he gets here," Bugs answered, a note of relief in his voice. "Keep looking.  Over and out."

  Babs slipped the radio back into her skirt pocket as she moved towards the next room, Falloner close to her side.  He'd been doing that constantly, never letting more than a foot of distance squeeze between them, a definite lack of confidence and security evident in his manner and movements.  Yet, should Babs move to pat him on the back or squeeze his shoulder in an effort to reassure him, he'd instantly shy away.  The action seemed more instinctive than thought about, though.

  Pushing it firmly to the back of her mind, she led the way into the last classroom before the end of the passage and the courtyard.  Her heart sank another notch as she surveyed the same silent, pristine scene they'd found in every other classroom.  Not a blemish to be seen, like the whole Loo had been freshly refurbished with a perfectionist's attention to detail.  Not a blemish, except one.

  A single desk, by the rearmost window, as worn and battered as they came, completely out of place amongst the sterility of the rest of the room.  Babs padded over to it, Falloner sticking almost as close to her as her own shadow.  Together they took in the ragged letter "E" scratched into the dulled, pitted surface.

  "Another," Falloner whispered, barely audible, the tiniest of shivers running through him.

  Babs paused, looked at him for a second, then out of the window at the clock tower and courtyard.  Seeing it so still and vacant sent a tremor down her spine, too.  She pulled out the radio.

  "Babs.  We've found another desk with a letter carved into it.  An 'E' this time.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs' voice answered. "Which room?  Over."

  "Advanced Chases," Babs told him. "Over."

  "By a window?" Sandy's voice butted in.

  "Yup.  Over." Babs blinked a couple of times, startled by his abruptness, but didn't comment on it.

  "Okay," Bugs sounded as calm as ever. "Keep looking.  Over and out."

  Babs pocketed the radio, then grabbed Falloner's paw in hers before he had a chance to resist. He jumped slightly, staring nervously at her.  The rabbit summoned up the best smile she could, and even squeezed his hand gently.  After a moment, he relaxed a little, managing a slight smile himself.  Inwardly, Babs heaved a small sigh of relief.

  "Sandy sounded troubled," she commented as they left the room, still holding paws.

  Falloner nodded. "He did, didn't he?"

 Babs opened the door to the courtyard, and led the way through. "Any idea why?"

  "Some," the raccoon admitted. "But there are things he won't even tell me.  Or Carter."

  On an impulse, Babs slipped into the best Vincent Price impression she could manage. "Don't tell me he has some skeletons rattling around in his closet?"

  "A bone or two, perhaps," Falloner answered, mimicking the horror maestro's chill-inducing voice almost to perfection. "But not an entire skeleton." He dropped back into his own tones, as a red and white face peeped cautiously out from the door to the clock tower. "At least, not that I know of."

  Still operating under instinct, Babs changed the subject a little. "You're pretty good at the voices."

  Falloner chuckled before answering, not a trace of conceit in his voice. "Don't ask me how.  I only have to hear a voice a few times and I can usually mimic it quite well."

  "What, any voice?" Babs asked, genuinely interested.  The infirmary loomed before them.

  "No, no." Falloner shook his head. "I often struggle with female voices, for one thing.  Joan Rivers is a great example – I _cannot_ mimic her at all."

  Babs instantly dropped his hand, and span into a blonde wig, tight-fitting, bright red jacket with huge shoulder pads, a white bow tie wider than she was, and a black miniskirt. "Oh, oh, oh!  She's one of my favorites!  Oh, oh!"

  "And spin-changing is way beyond me," Falloner went on, warming to his subject, and losing some of his nerves along the way. "I make Goopy Geer look like an expert.  Still, one more try wouldn't hu…"

  "We'll have none of that, Mister!" Babs interrupted, her Joan Rivers still in full flow. "There are things a girl should not have to see!"

  "Well, if you put it that way," Falloner replied, in a soft, throaty voice with a strong Jewish flavour.

  Babs span back to herself, grinning. "I do, Mel.  Our rating's being threatened enough as i…what the…?" Her gaze snapped from Falloner to the infirmary door a few feet ahead of them. "I swear I just heard that shut…"

  "Me too," Falloner confirmed.

  Without a word they broke into a run, the unease returning in a rush.  On reaching the door, Falloner brushed it aside almost recklessly, to be greeted by a quartet of startled faces.

  "What in tarnation?" Sam bellowed from his bed, pulling himself into a sitting position.  He looked more or less himself, beyond the slight fraying of the edges of his extravagant moustache.

  Babs! Wile E's sign exclaimed, the coyote pausing in his restless pacing back and forth alongside his bed.  His energetic brain seemed to be working overtime.

  "Gwacious!" Elmer put in, getting up from his seat by his colleagues' beds, and hurrying over to the new arrivals. "Are we gwad to see you!"

  "Good to see you, too," Babs replied, letting out a long, relieved sigh. "How long have you been here?"

  "Since before the bwackout," Elmer told her. "I came to check on the guys before my next wesson, then the wights went.  We tried the door then, but we were wocked in."

  "Locked in?" Falloner repeated, his gaze switching to the hunter for a moment.

  "Yeah," Sam confirmed, swinging heavily round to sit in the edge of his bed. "Couldn't get it ter budge.  Couldn't see outside, neither.  We gave up trying purty quick.  Then the lights came back, and a minute later she came in."

  He nodded his head towards the small red figure that had been holding Falloner's attention since he'd barged into the Infirmary.  The vixen sat on a bed a little distant from the others, legs loosely crossed, hands resting in her lap, watching them calmly, her head cocked to one side.  Her attire consisted simply of a waist-length cotton shawl, coloured a deep russet, and tied lightly around her neck, and nothing else.

  "And you are?" Babs asked.

  "Rusty," the vixen replied, jumping lightly to her feet, and padding over. "Pleased to meet you."

  "And I you," Babs greeted her. "I'm Babs Bunny, and he who can't tear his eyes from you is Falloner."

  The raccoon flashed a brief glare at the rabbit, then turned back to the fox. "A pleasure."

  "Likewise." Rusty gave no discernible reaction. "Any idea what's going on here?"

  "None," Falloner admitted. "All we know is we now have a near-deserted school."

  "Is Bugs all right?" Elmer interjected.

  "Fine," Babs assured him. "He's waiting in his office.  We're gathering everyone we find there."

  "Then we'd best get a-goin'," Sam decided, standing up.

  As Yosemite led the way to the door, Babs' radio crackled loudly into life.  Babs and Falloner paused just outside the infirmary, focusing on the check-ins, not noticing the vixen slow down considerably, ears pricked. The rest headed at speed for the main building.

  "Sandy.  Still on third floor.  No sign of life.  Over."

  Falloner's concentration was fractured for a moment by running footsteps.  He looked up to see Rusty sprinting to catch up with the three teachers.  He didn't dwell on it, shrugging slightly as he focused on the radio again.

  "Received," Bugs' voice came back. "Over."

  Babs depressed 'talk'. "Babs.  We're by the infirmary.  Found Sam, Elmer, Wile E and a vixen called Rusty in there.  They're just on their way to join you, Bugs.  Over."

  "Received.  Nice one, guys.  Over."

  "Plucky.  Still on floor 2.  No life, but we've just found another desk with a letter on it.  An 'H'.  In English 2, and yes, it's by a window.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs returned. "Keep looking.  Over and out."

  Plucky lowered the radio from his mouth, and gazed at the desk. "'E', 'L', 'H'," he murmured. "What's that all about?"

  "Maybe it's spelling something," Hamton posited.

  "Spelling something?" Plucky fired back, tone withering.  Then, after a pause, he relented. "Thinking about it, you may be right, Hammy.  Sure makes more sense than a lot of what's goin' on." He started for the door. "Time to check the next r…hey – was that a tail?"

  "Looked like it," Hamton agreed, as both he and Plucky ran for the door.

  The corridor beyond proved utterly deserted, but they could just hear footsteps clattering up the stairs.  As Plucky lifted the radio, Sandy's voice came out of it.

  "We've found a fourth desk.  Got a letter 'H' on it.  History 1.  By a window.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs' voice confirmed. "Elmer, Sam and Wile just got ta the office.  No Rusty, though.  Over."

  "I think we know where she is," Plucky interjected. "Just saw a tail go past the door to English 2, and heard footsteps running up the stairs to the third floor.  Over."

  "What's she playin' at?" Bugs wondered. "You get ready for her, Sandy.  Over."

  "Already am.  Over and out."

  Plucky and Hamton started walking again, moving along the corridor to English 3.

  "I wonder what's gotten into that girl?" Hamton remarked. "Maybe something was after her."

  "We didn't see anyone," Plucky replied, searching the room visually. "It's gettin' to be a theme around here.  Hello – another one." He strode over to the nearest window, and the desk that stood under it. "A second 'E'.  Best tell Bugs all about it."

  "And about this one," Hamton piped up, from the back of the room. "We've got a 'P'."

  "They're multiplyin'." Plucky activated the radio. "Plucky.  Two more letters for the collection.  An 'E' and a 'P'.  Both by windows in English 3.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs' voice confirmed. "Dat makes six, half on de second floor.  I can spell somethin' with four of de letters, but not all of dem.  They spell 'help'.  Over."

  "Not good," Plucky muttered to himself.

  "Plucky," Sandy's voice broke in, "can you see the clock tower?  Over."

  "Yes," the duck answered, clicking to the fox's train of thought. "We could from English 2 as well.  Over."

  "Right." Sandy's mental wheels were spinning fast. "It may be nothing, but I think we should check the tower quickly.  Buster and I'll catch Rusty, then head for the clock.  Babs, Plucky – meet us there, OK?  Over."

  "OK," Babs' voice answered. "Over."

  "OK," Plucky's echoed. "Over."

  "Keep in touch," was Bugs' only comment. "Over and out."

  Sandy handed the radio back to Buster.  The rabbit's ears were swivelling from side-to-side as he listened for their quarry.  A finger jabbed out, pointing down the corridor.

  "That way."

  "OK." Sandy set off at a run, Buster right by his side.  Ahead of them, a face peered fleetingly round a door, then was gone.

  "That room has a connecting door with the next one along," Buster informed his companion. "I'll cover the far one."

  Sandy nodded, and the rabbit bounded ahead, reaching the further room only a few seconds after the fox did the nearer.  A glance at each other, then both rushed through the doors.  Both spotted the vulpine figure standing in the connecting doorway, her head snapping back and forth, poised to run.  Both began cautiously pacing toward her, ready and waiting for her to react.

  Several seconds passed in tense silence, then she sprinted straight for Sandy, losing all her poise in the process.  Her fleetness of foot gave him no chance to dodge.  The vixen knocked him clean off his feet, sending him crashing to the classroom floor, with her on top of him.  Reacting instinctively, Sandy had his arms clamped round her back before they'd stopped moving.

  Oddly, the girl didn't struggle.  She remained lying face down on top of him, face buried in his neck, body shivering violently.  As Buster knelt down beside them, Sandy loosened his hold so his arms were little more than resting across her back.

  "You okay?" Buster asked.

  Sandy nodded. "Not sure about her, though."

  "Just…give me a moment," the vixen requested, voice slightly unsteady.

  A brief pause, then she lifted herself up, to sit astride Sandy's waist.  He propped himself up on his elbows, and regarded her carefully.

  "So you're Rusty," he noted, levelly.

  The vixen nodded, looking a little abashed, eyes failing to focus completely on his face. "I hope you're Sandy."

  "That's me," the fox confirmed. "And the bunny's Buster."

  "No relation to Babs," Buster added, automatically.

  "Noted," Rusty smiled slightly, seemingly in no hurry to move. "I guess I have some explaining to do."

  "Just a little," Buster agreed, laconically.

  "You can tell all as we wa...not again." Sandy let out a despairing groan as the lights cut out.****


	5. Inside Out

**5**

**Inside Out**

"Anyone know where the light switch is?" Rusty's voice quavered.

  "Air...supply...cut...off..." Sandy's strangulated tones gasped. "Wind...pipe...crushed..."

  "Déjà vu," Buster drawled.

  Bugs' urgent voice erupted from the radio. "Check in!"

  Sandy, with an effort, managed to sit up and gain himself a little more breathing space, then brought the radio to his mouth. "Sandy.  Still here - just.  Buster's with me, as is Rusty.  Still on third floor.  Over."

  "Received."

  "Babs.  At the bottom of the clock tower.  Falloner, Plucky and Hamton are here too.  We're locked in.  Over."

  "Received.  Stay put till de lights come back, then I'll join Sandy's group, and from there head ta join Babs' in de tower.  Once we've checked it out, we'll head back to my office.  Got that?  Over."

  "Got it.  Over." Sandy confirmed.

  "Got it.  Over." Babs echoed.

  "See yas shortly.  Over and out."

  "Now we wait," Sandy remarked, fully aware of the shivering of the vixen still holding onto him.  On impulse, he looped his arms lightly round her.  The gesture seemed to have the desired effect, for Rusty's trembling subsided fairly swiftly to almost nothing.

  In nervous silence they waited, uncertain of how much time flowed past before the lights flickered sharply into life.  Once their eyes had adjusted, they took stock of their situation.  The classroom looked unchanged, as empty and sterile as before, and yet...

  Sandy focused on Rusty, head tilted slightly to one side.  Again the vixen failed to return his gaze directly.

  "You all right?" Sandy asked, levelly.

  "Better," Rusty answered, with a nod. "If a…little embarrassed."

  "Your seat doesn't seem to be," Buster observed, dryly.

  "I don't embarrass easily," Sandy replied, not taking his eyes from Rusty. "Well, Bugs oughta be here right about…"

  "Now?" the rabbit himself finished, appearing as if by magic in the doorway.  One eyebrow rose as he took in the scene. "Nice ta see yas getting on already," he noted, with a grin.

  Sandy gave no reaction, even when Buster nudged his shoulder as he moved past and up to his mentor, but Rusty's cheeks gained a little colour, her head tilted downwards.

  Bugs put a hand to Buster's shoulder, gazing at Sandy. "Ya can't hold on forever.  We've got a tower ta investigate.  Shuffle this way if ya please." He dropped into a stoop, arms trailing, and shoulders hunched up.  His ears trailed down his back, his eyes became heavy-lidded and thickly glazed, and his mouth crooked and drooping.  Breaking into a shambling, rolling run, he headed down the corridor, moaning "The tower!  The tower!" in a thick, sloshing voice as he went.

  Three faces leaned round the door, watching him in wide-eyed surprise.  Then three shrugs proceeded three more hunchbacks dragging themselves along the passage.

  Thus it was that Babs, gazing impatiently out of the clock tower door, was treated to the unforgettable sight of a quartet of comedy Quasimodos shuffling wildly across the courtyard in a line towards her, dementedly determined to reach "the tower", as they incessantly wailed.

  She beckoned the others over. "Here comes the cavalry."

  Plucky, Falloner and Hamton joined her, jaws distending considerably as they took in the view.

  "They've flipped!" Plucky declared, shaking his head. "They're looney tunes!"

  "Property of Warner Brothers, INC," Falloner appended, in a dead-on Daffy, pulling up his tail to reveal a large WB shield apparently glued onto the fabric of his trousers.

  "What, not gonna kiss it?" Babs asked, grinning.

  "I have my limits," the raccoon answered, complete with full-force Daffy-style raspberry on the 's'.  Aptly enough, it was the Professor's protégé who bore the brunt of the resultant spittle fountain.

  "That's only funny when Daffy does it," Plucky opined, disdainfully, wiping his face with one hand. "Or a toon who actually is WB property."

  "Good point," Falloner agreed, in his own voice. He peeled the shield from his rear end, then with a flourish slapped it onto Plucky's bill. "How 'bout you give it a whirl?"

  In that instant of high-speed transition, it seemed to have acquired the stickiness of jam mixed with industrial superglue, as Plucky found out when he tried to remove it.  It took both hands and a tearing sound that made all around him cringe to separate it from his face.  Unfortunately, it didn't separate from his beak, which remained stubbornly welded to the shield, but not his head.

  "That's you off my Christmas card list," it groused, nasally.  Then the duck realised both his hands were still stuck to the WB logo, either side of his bill. "For the next fifteen years!" he added, sitting down against a wall, then pushing mightily at the shield with one webbed foot.  When that failed, the last limb tried its luck.  Net result: glue five, duck nil.

  "Didn't Daffy tell you about dose tings?" Bugs asked, standing over the unfortunate waterfowl. "Took him an hour to remove his after dat scene.  WB won't let ya go easily."

  "Ya don't say," Plucky snarled, flexing and wriggling his limbs as much as he could in a pathetic, heavily one-sided fight with the shield.

  Bugs shook his head in gentle exasperation. "Sandy – you pull the shield while Falloner holds Plucky."

  The raccoon looked a touch doubtful, but did as bid, helping the fox carry the duck to the middle of the small room.

  "Light as a feather," he quipped, wrapping both arms round Plucky's waist, and holding him up so Sandy could grip the shield.

  Even with both of them pulling with all their combined might, it was several seconds before the glue finally waved a white flag and set Plucky free.  Such was the suddenness of it, all three toons were sent flying horizontally backwards.  Sandy and Plucky hit opposing walls head first almost in unison, their bodies compressing slightly with the momentum, then dropped heavily to the ground.  The duck's fall revealed two flattened legs in cream-coloured trousers spread in a perfect horizontal line along the wall.  Above the hint of a concertinaed torso, a triangular and wallpaper-thin muzzle jutted, ringed by wonky teeth.

  "Ow," squeaked Falloner, in falsetto, pouring slowly off the wall and onto the floor, hands gravitating to his crotch as he curled into a foetal position, his face a particularly violent shade of purple under the fur.

  "My thoughts exactly," winced Babs, as all the males in the room (even Plucky) crossed their legs and cringed deeply in sympathy.

  "You okay?" Sandy asked, redundantly, kneeling by his surrogate sibling.

  "Fine," Falloner assured him, at such a pitch it was a wonder no dogs came running, the mask of exquisite agony his face was frozen into strongly suggesting otherwise. "Just fine."  Slowly his face returned to its normal shade, and a barely detectable melancholy crept into his eyes. "I suppose I deserved that."

  "Too right ya did!" Plucky called out, from behind a Hamton-shaped body shield.

  "Sorry," Falloner almost mumbled, ears drooping.

  "Forget it," Sandy advised, quietly, helping the raccoon to his feet.

  "All right." Bugs most authoritative tone silenced all.  He stood at the bottom of the stone spiral stairs at the back of the small room. "Now we can get back ta business."

  He started up the steps, leaving the others to follow.  Babs and Buster were right behind.  Sandy held Falloner back by his shoulder for a moment, until Hamton and Plucky had passed them, whereupon the raccoon quite literally stuffed one of his paws into his mouth to stifle a guffaw.  The WB shield had somehow found its way onto the back of the green duck's vest.

  "I just can't help myself!" Sandy grinned, arm now round Falloner's shoulder, and left foot crossed over the right, resting lightly on its toes.

  "Nor can I!" Falloner responded, having extracted his hand from his muzzle.  He kissed his brother just below his eye, then headed up the tower after the others.

  A satisfied smile ticking his face, Sandy brought up the rear. "I love it when a plan comes together!"

  He kept within a step of Falloner all the way up, half his attention focused on his sibling, the other half on what might be found at the top.  Most likely, nothing, but some part of him insisted that wasn't to be the case.  The climb, he found, was the only thing so far to match the level of 'taking forever' factor of an Elmer Fudd lecture.  When the stairs did end, it was simply at a door right on the lip of the top step.  There was a noticeable pause before Bugs opened it and stepped through.

  Swiftly the other six filed after him, hustling into the room beyond with hearts in mouths.  Sandy was bemused to find it was so small, a petite square of a chamber with only one chair in the middle of it, and a selection of framed photographs spaced around the bland walls.  He stationed himself to the side and just behind of Falloner, resting one paw on the raccoon's back, then followed his gaze.  Silence settled over him as he found himself looking at Bugs.

  The Principal stood before a black-and-white photo of the head and shoulders of a man with light hair, a warm face and knowing, intelligent eyes, wearing a tidy shirt and a neat bow tie.  Embossed on a tiny plaque at the bottom of the simple golden frame was the single word 'Chuck'.  Sandy felt a quiet melancholy filter in as he watched Bugs place a hand against the photo, the assured determination slipping from the rabbit's face for a matter of but moments, a palpable sorrow taking its place.  Was that a tear furrowing his ruff of a cheek?  Was that one furrowing his own?  The fox closed his eyes, letting the glass-protected image hover in his mind for a moment, then the reality of the moment reasserted itself.

  Opening his eyes once more, he found Bugs now standing right in front of them, the slightest of smiles curving his mouth.

  "We'll keep him alive," the rabbit averred, quietly yet fervently.  Then he was businesslike once again. "Anyone see anything of note?"

  "Not here," Sandy answered.  His gaze lit on a door opposite the one to the stairs. "Maybe there."

  "What is this place?" Falloner asked, eyes still tracking round the photographs.

  "Where I come ta think," Bugs answered, stepping over to the door Sandy had highlighted, and pushing it open.

  The first thing the group saw beyond was the back of the Looniversity clock, and the complex, gear-based mechanism that kept it ticking.  The second thing they saw was the sarcophagus.  At least, it looked like a sarcophagus.  Its shape was right, its size was right, and the lid was carved into a figure swathed in the richest Egyptian garb, as it should have been.  Yet the clothes seemed parodied rather than carefully reproduced, and instead of an expressionless, enigmatic human countenance as the focus of it all, the face of a young toon cat stared blankly up at them; a feline Tutankhamen.

  No-one moved right away.  No-one knew what to do.  It was Bugs who approached it first, examining the sarcophagus from every angle, but not actually touching it.

  "It's padlocked," he reported, voice low.

  "How many coffins have padlocks?" Plucky wondered, in deep confusion. "How's a coffin in our clock tower, for that matter?"

  His only reply was a row of blank faces, none of his peers quite able to compute what they were seeing.

  "Can anyone read Egyptian?" Hamton suddenly asked, pointing at the wall next to the door.

  Four large symbols had been scratched raggedly and deeply into the paint there – a half circle with the flat side at the bottom, an elongated eye shape without a pupil, an arm at a right angle and viewed from the side with the palm out flat, and an upright rectangle split by horizontal bars varying distances from one another.  Incongruous didn't seem a good enough word for them.

  "Is there an Egyptologist in de house?" Bugs asked aloud, in a crisp vaudeville tone, effectively snapping the younger toons from their bewildered trances.

  "Do we open it?" Buster asked, not looking too enamoured of the idea, but feeling duty-bound to suggest it.

  "Not here," Bugs decided. "We'll take it back to de office first.  Maybe we can think clearer dere.  Gimme yer radio."

  Buster obliged, then stepped back to take Babs by the paw.

  Bugs finger depressed the 'talk' button. "Daffy – we're coming back, and we're bringing something wid us.  We should be dere in five minutes at de most."

  "Understood," the duck's voice answered, crisply.

  Bugs handed the radio back to Buster. "Let's see how heavy dis is…"

  He and his pupil crouched at either end of the sarcophagus, eased their fingers under the base, and lifted.  Between them, it proved manageable, so with toons to front and back of them, they slowly made their way out of the clock tower, and out into the courtyard.  There, Sandy and Falloner took over, porting the unsettling object back into the school proper.  The last leg was taken by Plucky and Hamton, who were more than glad to relinquish their load the moment they entered Bugs office, propping it up against a wall.

  Daffy, Wile E, Elmer and Sam clustered round, staring open-mouthed at the sarcophagus.

  "What in tarnation?!" Yosemite yelled, expressing at full volume what all his colleagues were thinking.

  "It was in de clock tower," Bugs explained. "Along wid some hieroglyphs."

  "Hierogylphs?" Wile E repeated. "What were they?"

  "Didn't take 'em down," Bugs confessed. "Sorry, Wile."

  "I think I can remember them," Falloner put in, heading for Bugs' desk.  He picked up a pencil, and sketched the glyphs as best he could on a small pad of plain paper.

  Wile sat at the desk, and picked up the pad. "Give me time, and I might be able to work it out."

  "Take all the time ya need," Bugs told him, turning his full attention on the sarcophagus. "Sam – think ya can open this?"

  "O' course!" Yosemite answered, pulling out a six-gun.  One shot from it, and the padlock broke, clattering to the floor.

  Sandy was the one that moved over to the casket first, pulling it upright, and opening it smartly.  A horribly rigid face rushed straight into his, giving him barely enough time to register the body it was attached to, and no time to dodge.  He hit the floor on his back, smothered by the lifeless bulk.  He fought his way out from under it, heart thumping in his throat, blind to everything but escape.  Only when feminine arms caught hold of him did he begin to calm.

  From inside Rusty's embrace, he fought to make sense of what his eyes were showing him.  The inert form of a black-furred raccoon lay in front of the sarcophagus, bound hand and foot, and a grotesque plastic mask of an orange cat fixed by elastic bands to his face.  A slip of paper, seemingly left loose inside the casket, had come to rest by his feet.  Sandy craned forward to read it.

          **Got Carter.******


	6. The Dawn

**6**

**The Dawn**

"Is he dead?" Buster asked, taking Babs' paw, and keeping his voice as level as possible. 

  "No," Sandy answered, sitting back, the mask in one paw, and two lengths of rope in the other.  He spoke in a baffled murmur. "Just unconscious."

  The mood in the office improved more than a little, particularly when Falloner's gentle shaking of Carter bore dividends, the sable raccoon's eyes flickering open, and a paw moving to his forehead.  He swivelled into a sitting position, then grabbed an ebullient Falloner up in a bear hug.  For a moment, it looked like a kiss would seal the reunion, until both parties noticed they weren't alone.  A gentle nudge of noses was all they allowed themselves.

  "If that had been her…" Buster whispered, under his breath.  It caught as he felt her squeeze his hand, and move closer.  She must have heard him.  One eye glanced for one microsecond in her direction.  A soft smile warmed her lovely face, and it was directed right at him.  Yup, she'd heard.  He berated himself behind a flat face, turning to listen as Carter spoke up.

  "Does anyone have the slightest clue what's going on?" he asked, getting to his feet.

  "Some," Wile E answered, quietly, looking up from his pad.  Several hopeful looks were directed his way. "Him first," was the coyote's response, his pen jabbing toward Carter.

  "Well, Carter?" Bugs prompted, perching himself on the lip of the desk, posture relaxed, and eyes fixed on the raccoon.

  "You know my name?" Carter's gaze moved to Sandy.  The fox nodded. "I see.  Well, I remember the lights went during a between-lessons break.  I was in a classroom to myself at the time – trying to steel myself for the next lesson.  When they came back on, the place was deserted."

  "You mean Perfecto?" Daffy interjected, leaning on the desk next to Bugs, one hand at his hip, and one webbed foot crossed over the other.  A hint of distrust flashed in his eyes.

  "Sadly, yes," Carter confirmed. "Not my choice, though.  I'd rather be here.  Anyway, I started exploring the Prep, trying to work out where everyone had gone.  Didn't find a single toon.  The lights went again as I entered a science lab.  I heard footsteps, then something hit me between the ears.  Next thing, I'm seeing stars.  Twice."

  "I like him already," Daffy observed, his chest puffing up as a distinctly self-satisfied look came over his feathered face.  He looked like he'd just been declared Duck of the Year.

  Bugs rolled his eyes. "Hey, Daffy – what's tsurht backwoids?"

  "Er….thrust?" posited the duck, whereupon the end of his beak snapped upwards with a painful crack, as if he'd been hit with something.  The glare he aimed at Bugs around his right-angled bill could've burned through lead.  He pulled his beak back into shape. "You think I'm thuch a jackath, don't ya?"

  Bugs simple response was to hold up a sign.

  **JACKASS SEASON**

  Daffy had just enough time to whimper "Oh, no…" in a uniquely doomed tone of voice before a shotgun was aimed at him, Elmer affixed to the other end.  When the smoke cleared, it revealed a Daffy with a face even blacker than usual, and a beak perched atop his head, tongue drooping from the side.  The duck dropped his bill back into place like he was lowering a visor.

 "Oh, no." He shook his head, taking a step away from Bugs. "Not thith again.  Not thith little black duck."

  Bugs' sign changed.

**  LITTLE BLACK DUCK SEASON**

  Elmer, ever-dependable, responded exactly as expected.  This time when the cloud dispersed, Daffy's beak was a spinning blur around his head.  It came to a rest a fair bit further to the right than he would have preferred.  Two petulant hands straightened it up.

  "That ceased being funny the third time we did it, Mac," he observed, darkly, making sure to avoid letting any animals, furred, feathered or scaled, slip into his phrasing. "I'm not getting into any tired retreads of worn material."

  **NOT-GETTING-INTO-ANY-TIRED-RETREADS-OF-WORN-MATERIAL SEASON**

  Elmer's shotgun blasted into life.  Daffy's beak ended up perched upright on the desk behind him, a selection of pens and pencils jutting from it.  The duck picked it up, shook out the contents, and slapped it back onto his face.

  "Now you're reachin'," he told Bugs, sourly. "At least you ain't shooting your mouth off."

  "No, _he's_ shooting your mouth off."

  "I wish he'd shoot your mouth off."

  "But he doesn't have to shoot your mouth off."

  "Yes, he does have to shoot my mouth off!"

  "He doesn't have to shoot your mouth off."

  "Yes, he does have to shoot my mouth off!" Daffy was seething with righteous indignation. "I demand he shoots my mouth off!"

  "Alwight."

**  BANG!**

  The dissipating smoke revealed Daffy with one arm stretched up and out, and his bill pinned between his fingers. "You're too clever for my own good," it groused.

  His aggrieved mood faded on reattaching his beak, however, as he heard the beautiful sound of seven young toons crying with laughter.  A smile breaking onto his beak, he happily joined Bugs, top hat on head and cane in hand, in a perfectly synchronous and sublimely smooth soft shoe shuffle.  As sliding offstage wasn't an option, they, and Elmer, settled for bowing deeply, to two even more beautiful sounds – cheering and applause.  There were even a couple of whistles.  But no crickets.

  "Encore!" several voices pleaded.

  "Maybe later," Daffy answered. "My beak needs to recover."

  "In the meantime," Bugs put in, noting with no little satisfaction the improved mood in the room, "we can decide what ta do."

  "Go to Perfecto," Carter immediately suggested.  He held the mask in one hand. "I want to know what Albert's got to do with this."

  Bugs' eyes widened.  He indicated the mask. "Dat's someone you know?"

  Carter nodded. "Fellow student.  Not suited to Perfecto at all.  Vanished almost as soon as he'd started.  Only trace left is the word 'help' scratched into the back of what was his locker."

  "Really?" Wile looked up from the pad he was scribbling on for an instant. "Well, well."

  "Pardon?" Carter's face mapped out his confusion.

  Wile E laid his pen down. "It adds another piece," he explained, voice lacking its usual smug superiority. "Though there are still a lot of gaps."

  "Care to explain, O Thuper Genius?" Daffy prompted, with an overdone subservient bow.

  "Well," Wile answered, "I can work out how most of this could or would have been done, but not who by.  For a start, someone could easily have tampered with my desk hand before class.  I wasn't there all the time."

  "Same with ma gun?" Sam asked.

  "Yes.  And Daffy fell foul of a portable hole, though getting it under his feet must have been hard."

  "Very punny," the duck snapped back. "Tho this guy's got an ACME catalogue, huh?  Not the brainiest of people, eh Wile?"

  The coyote studiously ignored the dig. "I even have an idea how the cinema stunt was pulled."

  "But how, Poirot?" Falloner asked, his English accent gaining a clipped, upper-class tincture.

  Wile allowed himself a brief self-satisfied smile. "The only way I can see of doing it, was a theater that moved.  By that I mean whilst you were watching the film, the room you were sitting in was moving.  Down, then along, until it reached that building you came out of."

  "I can just about see dat," Bugs mused, one ear scratching the top of his head thoughtfully, "but ta move it right across Acme Acres must have taken some doing."

  "So we weren't in the Megaplex at all when we left the theatre?" Sandy asked. "We were in a building made to _look_ like it?"

  "It's the only solution that makes any sense," Wile E confirmed. "There is no way all those tricks could have been played in the real Megaplex."

  "And yet," Buster reasoned, "someone high up at the cinema must be in on it.  The room couldn't have been made to move, otherwise."

  "Exactly." Wile nodded. "Where I come unstuck is trying to understand how they could make the school so deserted so quickly.  Maybe with more information…" A frown formed as he slipped back into deepest thought.

  "We'll see what we can dig out," Bugs assured him. "But foist, we need ta find out if we can _get_ out."

  "I'll go," Sandy offered, even as the last syllable left the rabbit's mouth.

  "Okay," Bugs agreed, the only one in the room not to react in some way to the fox's apparent eagerness. "Got a radio?"

  "Yup," Sandy replied, patting a body pocket.

  "Then get goin'." Bugs turned back to the desk, laying another radio on it, then picking up his telephone.

  The fox nodded, and headed without a word to the door, brushing Rusty aside as he did so.  Hurt of more than one kind flashed in her eyes as she watched him leave.  It turned to a quiet embarrassment as she realised most eyes were on her.  Bugs and Wile were the only exceptions, the two of them engaged in conversation.

  "You two know each other?" Sam asked, positing a question in a lot of minds.

  "Not at all," Rusty answered, quietly. "Today was our first meeting."

  "Then…why did you leap on him?" Buster wanted to know.

  "I…liked the sound of his voice…?" Even she didn't look convinced by that one.

  "You have strange taste," Plucky drawled, more cynical about her than most.

  "I was panicking," Rusty was looking more flustered by the moment. "I thought he sounded comforting…reassuring…"

  "Yeah, yeah," Plucky sneered.

  "Leave it, Plucky," Daffy instructed him, firmly.

  "All right," the younger duck agreed, stung, lowering his gaze. "But I still don't trust her."

  "I was expecting to have to earn people's trust," Rusty remarked. "Not sure where to start, though."

  "By being patient," Bugs advised, replacing the receiver of his phone. "I've a bad feelin' we all might have ta be.  The phones are dead."

  "This keeps getting better and better!" Plucky groaned. "No-one got a cell phone?"

  "We don't allow 'em in the school, remember?" Bugs told him, his tones wry.

  "Oh, yeah," Plucky snapped back, sarcastically. "I forgot." A reproving glance from Daffy was enough to quench his ire, though. "You think we're gonna be trapped here?"

  Bugs just nodded, his brow furrowed in thought.

  "I must agree," Wile chimed in, lifting his gaze from his notepad. "Especially since those hieroglyphs in the tower seem to spell out 'trap'."

  "That's just swell." Plucky dropped into a chair. "Just swell."

  "At least we won't go hungry," Hamton pointed out. "We've got a whole canteen full of food."

  Plucky's face turned a deeper green, and he made a show of holding back the urge to retch. "If that was an attempt to reassure me, pal, it failed.  What's in that canteen ain't food."

  The radios chose that moment to crackle into life. "Sandy.  Over."

  Bugs snatched his up. "Well?  Over."

  "Main doors are locked," Sandy's voice reported. "And someone left a note - 'stay the night'.  Over."

  "Received," Bugs replied, crisply. "Get over to the canteen and bring back some food.  We'll send someone to meet you there.  Over."

  "Understood.  Over and out."

  Bugs' gaze lit on Rusty as he put the radio back on the desk.

  "Could I pass?" the vixen requested, nervously. "I'm not sure he'd welcome me."

  "He'll come to," Bugs averred. "But okay.  Any other volunteers?"

  Buster raised a hand.  So did Babs.

  "Got a radio?" Bugs asked.

  Babs nodded. "Back soon."

  "Wait a minute," Plucky burst out, a few moments after the bunnies had left. "Why don't we just break a window?"

  "Try it," Bugs suggested.

  "All right." Plucky paced over to the office's one window.

  When he found it locked tight, he carefully wrapped a cloth round one hand, and punched at the glass.  His fist rebounded off the window to slam right into his gaping beak, knocking him clean off his feet.  Pulling the cloth out of his mouth, he glared homicidally at Bugs.

  "We had 'em replaced after Sam shattered 'em," the rabbit explained. "Rubberized glass."

  "Timin'!" Plucky groused, standing up and dusting himself off.  It was then he finally noticed the WB shield affixed to the back of his vest. "Oh, I _hate_ him!"

  Babs and Buster padded into the canteen, their softly echoing footsteps their only company.  The first thing they were struck with, as they stopped in front of the serving counter, and gazed around them, was the total lack of a Sandy.  Babs activated the radio.

  "Babs calling.  Sandy?  Where are you?  Over."

  No answer.

  "Sandy?  Are you there? Over." The tension level in her voice rose a notch.

  This time a reply came, but from Bugs.

  "I take it he ain't at the canteen?  Over." the rabbit guessed.

  "No.  Over."

  "Odd," Bug's voice answered. "How long d'ya want to wait?  Over."

  "We'll give him five minutes, then if he isn't here try the radio again.  Over."

  "We'll talk again then.  Over and out."

  Babs slipped the radio back into her skirt pocket. "Think we should start?"

  "Might as well," Buster agreed. "Ladies first."

  "Why thank you, kind Sir," Babs trilled as she passed him, in her very best Tennessee Williams tone. "Such a perfect example of a gentleman!"

  "Jes doin' ma duty, Ma'am," Buster answered, taking a trip to the South himself, his modesty not entirely put on. "My duty by a lovely lady." He paused in the kitchen doorway. "Did I just say that?" he quavered, in his own voice.

  Babs beamed delightedly back at him. "I rather think you did!"

  "I was afraid of that," Buster moaned, head in hands.  He allowed himself a glance at his companion, then his paws dropped away completely.  He found himself smiling back. "It's true, though."

  "What's true?" Babs asked, gently, though something in her lively eyes hinted she already knew the answer.

  "That you're lovely," he answered, taking a step closer to her, and both of her hands in his.

  For a few moments, all other concerns melted away, leaving just them, alone, regarding one another with a warmth Buster in particular had not felt comfortable in showing before.  All the while, the blue bunny's mind considered exactly what to do or say next.  He was fairly sure of his feelings, but not of how best to reveal them, or how much to let out, or even if they should be made known at all.  In the end, the decision was made for him by footsteps approaching the canteen from the same corridor they'd used to reach it.

  "Guys?" Sandy's voice called out.

  "Over here," Buster called back, simultaneously annoyed at a chance lost, and relieved at being given more time to think it all over.  The former won through when Babs lightly and quickly kissed his right hand before releasing it, and continuing into the kitchen.

  "Only just got here?" Sandy asked, sliding past him.

  "And still beat you," Buster retorted, with a grin.  His eyes lit on the backpack the fox was now carrying. "Took a detour?"

  "Didn't want to leave this unattended," Sandy answered, shifting the strap on his shoulder.

  Buster bit back the urge to ask what was in the bag, reasoning that any chance of upsetting the fox was not worth taking.  As Babs radioed Bugs to report Sandy's reappearance, he and the vulpine set about filling their arms with as much food as possible, and then a little bit more besides.  Both were surprised (and delighted) to find the kitchen fully stocked with a wide selection of real food, which instantly made the idea of staying overnight at the Loo much more palatable.  Once Babs was fully laden as well, the trio began the return trip.

  Halfway to the office, a distant, quavering wail rose abruptly from nowhere, seeming to make the very air tremble as it reached a keening crescendo, then faded back into nowhere, leaving three deeply shaken toons in its wake.  Caution forgotten, they ran full tilt for the relative safety of Bugs office, the echoes of the cry chasing them along the corridors.

  They were met in the passage outside the room by the rabbit himself, both his ears fully erect as his head swivelled from side to side.  He didn't acknowledge them immediately, and when he did, it was with a question.

  "Anyone know what dat was?"

  His pupils' only reply was a shaking of heads.

  "Okay.  Get inside." He ushered the younger toons and their loads into the office, taking one last searching look round before he followed them.

  Buster sat against the wall, staring intently into the depths of his own thoughts.  He couldn't sleep – far too much to make sense of, and this was his first proper opportunity to reflect.  Besides, having someone keep watch seemed a better idea the more he considered it.

  He, Babs, Plucky and Hamton had opted to spend the night in Daffy's office, once Bugs had given them the option of sleeping either there or in Elmer's.  Sandy, Falloner and Carter had vanished into Fudd's room, leaving the older toons and an unhappy Rusty to occupy Bug's office.  Buster had hoped he might be alone with Babs, but fate, in the shape of a certain green duck, had intervened.  He just had to hope another opportunity would present itself before his impetus vanished.

  His gaze drifted over to her.  She lay peacefully asleep right next to him, a lovely sight indeed in the moonlight filtering through the one window.  Since Plucky and Hamton were also sleeping soundly, across the room from him, he felt secure in letting the warmth he felt as he regarded Babs spill onto his face in the form of a gentle smile.  Carefully, softly, he eased the radio from her skirt pocket, determined that any alert should not disturb her.

  He found himself becoming increasingly protective toward her.  Part of him wanted to wrap an arm round her, secure her in his embrace.  But, another part reasoned, that would risk disturbing her, which was not an option.  Maybe…  Maybe just a kiss.  A peck on the forehead.  It would satisfy his sudden need for expression, and she would never know.  He leaned over, dipping his had toward hers…

   Only for the warmth to be chased out of him by a wail that rose from somewhere far beyond the office door, distorted, echoing and horrible.  And yet, even as it sent shivers of fear coursing through him, it struck a tiny note of familiarity.  He jumped to his feet, snatching up the radio, and darted across to the door.  As he whipped it open, the wail faded away, leaving just his wildly spinning mind.  A voice rang out from Elmer's office, just along from him.

  "Stay here.  I'll check it out."  The last word was accompanied by Sandy's head emerging into the corridor, minus the homburg hat.

  Buster moved out into the corridor, making sure to close the door as he did so.  Sandy followed suit, a distinct tension to his movements.  Buster's eyebrow rose a fraction on noting the fox wasn't wearing his jacket, either.  He didn't mention it, though.

  "Feel like investigating?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Sandy nodded. "I have a curiosity to sate.  Did it sound sad to you?"

  "Sad?" Buster blinked.

  "Melancholy.  Unhappy."

  "Now you mention it, it did a little.  And I _swear_ there's something familiar about it."

  Now it was Sandy's turn to raise a brow. "All the more reason to find the source.  Any idea where it was coming from?"

  Buster shook his head. "Too distorted.  But if it happens ag…"

  He stopped as the wail began again, ears twitching to every moment of it, straining to work out where it might be originating.

  "Well?" Sandy prompted, once quiet had reasserted itself.

  "This way," Buster answered, taking off along the corridor.

  Progress was swift, only pausing whenever the wail sounded so Buster could keep track of their direction.  Quite quickly they arrived at the front of the courtyard, where the clock tower loomed high.  In the moonlight, a tiny silhouette could just be perceived huddled atop the school building to the left of the tower.  As if to confirm the obvious, it let out a drawn-out, miserable wail even as they gazed up at it.

  "It's a cat!" Sandy exclaimed, in obvious relief.

  Buster nodded, then raised his voice. "You're safe!  Jump!  I'll catch you!"

  A short, sharp meow, then the shape dropped off the edge, falling neatly into Buster's waiting arms.  It proved to be a small blue cat with one ragged ear and a bandage tied haphazardly round his scrawny, white-tipped tail.

  "Furball!" Buster beamed. "Good to see you!"

  The feline obviously agreed, from the quite ecstatic hug he gave the rabbit, before jumping lightly to the ground.

  "Furball, Sandy.  Sandy, Furball." Buster rattled out. "We'll do full introductions tomorrow."

  "Fine!" Sandy chuckled, oozing relief.

  "And now, sleep," Buster smiled, leading the way back to the offices.

  "They're open," Buster reported, having tested the main school doors. "We're out of this at last."

  "Lead on," Bugs smiled, standing amidst a knot of happily expectant toons.

  "My pleasure!" Buster pulled the doors wide, and stepped out.

  Fourteen people flooded out of their overnight prison, filled with thoughts of reunion and rejoicing.  Finally some light on the horizon…

  Light that winked abruptly out on cresting a grassy rise, to be presented with a perfect view of the crumbling, decaying, ruinous skeleton of a town that had once been Acme Acres.


End file.
